this whole romantic adrinette-platonic ladynoir-thing-in-s5 discourse makes me really wondering about how both stans would have reacted if the situation was reversed, like if romantic ladynoir-platonic adrinette happens.

would some adrinette stans complained about pre-reveal romantic ladynoir? would some ladynoir stans being boastful and superior about how right they are about their ship? would some adrinette stans rooting for the ship to break up? would some ladynoir stans make an entire essay defending about how ladynoir pre-reveal canon is not bad or didn't harm other LS sides? Would both stans still has the "the love square is dead except *LS side that's in the romantic relationship pre-reveal*" mindset?

I probably will never have the answer but I do wonder about this. a lot.

post here

DISCLAIMER BEFORE ANYONE SAYS OR ASSUMES ANYTHING ABOUT ME: i am not a proshipper. i am not an anti. i do not use any shipping discourse labels because i've been actively traumatized by both communities and have no desire to put that label on myself. i am just a person capable of critical thinking who enjoys analyzing media sometimes. i do not condone harassment over fiction, and i also do not believe any form of media is free from critical analysis or criticism, especially if it includes harmful propaganda and/or portrayals of marginalized peoples/societies which serve to perpetuate or legitimatize a pre-existing societal bias. do not call me an anti. do not call me a proshipper. do not assume things about me in bad faith. ive got no time for that and ill block you if you do this.

i actually think i kinda have a grasp on what's being said here so lemme explain this bc this is kinda how i feel? i'm gonna explain as best i can since its nearing 3 am and im a lil tired. forgive me if i dont explore every angle of nuance here btw again im tired but the adderall is in my blood so.

ahem.

my main talking point is this: there is a difference between exploration of something, which can include varying depictions and portrayals of a subject, vs propaganda for something, which has the intent of swaying you towards one side or away from one side or blah blah blah you know what propaganda wants to do i'm sure

exploration of dark and taboo subjects such as CSA/SA/abuse in general, paraphilias, mental illness, incest, so on and so forth - especially when done by survivors of those things - are almost never propaganda, no matter how they're being portrayed. someone using fictional characters within a fictional context to cope with their own trauma is, 99.9% of the time, not trying to endorse that behavior in real life. they also often assume the people reading it will understand that they the creator are not trying to endorse that behavior in real life.

example: most people who create fiction based off the mafia do not actually want to be mobsters, nor do they think others should be, nor do they endorse the real life mob, even if their portrayals can sometimes be problematic in other ways and/or contribute to certain problematic societal ideas about gang violence esp when committed by white people, but that's an entirely different issue than the one at hand and has more factors in play.

a deeper example: while a work of fiction can definitely reveal certain creator biases and/or how the creator feels about certain topics, it doesn't mean that every detail in the fiction is weighted the same way. someone may have clear biases towards, for example, women, in their work based on how they write their female characters, but not condone murder in that same work just because murder is part of the plot and/or is framed as a net positive in the storyline. you can have a work which clearly shows a creator's true feelings or thoughts or philosophies or what-have-you on one topic, but not on another, within the same work. learning which of these is true and when is a learned skill. i can't tell ya to do it myself as i am not a teacher

despite it seeming like it should be easy, on the other hand, spotting propaganda can actually be really fucking hard. i am not here to talk about how to spot propaganda, and perhaps will reblog this at a later date with links on how to do that as i am too tired to both write this and look for reliable resources on doing that, so if you want that for now, sorry, you gotta search elsewhere. however, this difficulty often leads to the main conflict i see online:

people believe that an exploration or portrayal of a dark/taboo subject or a subject which contains something that is immoral or illegal in real life, which does not outright condemn that thing, and/or appears on a surface level to be a "positive" portrayal (air quotes bc what counts as positive changes depending on who you ask) even when made by real-life survivors of the thing being explored, is the exact same as propaganda meant to push the emulation of that thing or behavior in real life, by real people, to real people/others/whatever.

this is the issue i and others keep running into online, over and over and over again. people are unable to tell the difference, they are unable to tell the target audience of a work, they are unable to understand why someone would make something a certain way, and ultimately the material upsets/triggers/disgusts/bothers/etc them, and all of this leads to them treating the first group of media like the second. because of that, they assume those creating that content are encouraging its real-world application and that the creators think these actions are okay, or that they will/want to/have perpetrated those acts in real life as well. once they've decided this, it's essentially impossible to convince them otherwise

ignoring the fact that you cannot make these assumptions about a stranger online in good faith literally ever, this is a huge problem. a nazi creating propaganda indoctrination white supremacist fantasy fiction material is nowhere near the same as a CSA & SA survivor creating works of dark fiction/art to cope with their trauma, but a lot of people consider it one and the same because they literally are incapable of seeing the difference. they can't analyze either work by either creator, and are unable to see how the nazi's fiction is different from the survivor's. even if the subjects portrayed in the works are different, too

these people will also insist that any humanization of a villain they deem "bad" or "problematic" enough - which, again, is dependent on who's making those decisions and not any kind of clear standard - means that the creator condones/believes/enjoys those things the villain does, and people who enjoy that character also condone/believe/enjoy those things the villain does. the ultimate irony of it all, of course, is that these people are consuming the exact same media with the exact same characters and exact same story and exact same plotline as the people they are attacking, and many of those people also enjoyed that media. they just seem to think because they enjoy blorbo blingus The Good Guy(tm) instead of zorbo zingle The Bad Guy(tm), that makes them morally superior instead of, yknow, just someone with a different opinion who is reading/watching with a different lens than someone else

obsession with moral purity, moral superiority, and in general an abstract concept of morality, is what has ultimately led us here. in an attempt to be seen as "acceptable" by the masses of the world - regardless of whether they participate in fandom or not - for whatever reason one has, has led some of us to turn on each other within fandom spaces

fear of predatory abusers lurking in the shadows, as well as an inability to actually identify the signs of a predatory abuser caused by a society whose goal is largely to protect those same predatory abusers, as well as a sadly large and growing number of victims of abuse growing up online and sometimes being abused and/or preyed on online (as i myself was) who thus are hypervigilant for this sort of thing due to their own trauma, has all led to a willingness to attack and destroy anyone we think might possibly maybe sorta kinda be a little suspicious without a second thought to the actual probability of that person's guilt, as well as the inability to stop and ask ourselves what we're really doing when we attack people over fictional portrayals of things as well as whether or not these fictional hypothetical transgressions are truly worth destroying someone's livelihood and life over or whether they're something we can simply block and ignore and not worry about

simply liking or disliking something in media has become a source of literal panic attacks for a lot of people because they drive themselves mad looking for a "good, moral, logical reason" to like or dislike something rather than just accepting it for what it is

our lack of understanding combined with an unwillingness to be open to the possibility of alternative interpretations for anything has driven people to commit atrocities. someone is literally dying right now because of it. actively dying. will die soon. because of antis deciding their creations meant it was okay to lie about them being a pedophile (they weren't), get them fired from their job due to these false claims, resulting in them losing their health care, which has 4 years down the road, resulted in their eventual death.

we. must. do. better.

[♥] collegeau! to date or not to date {rengoku kyoujurou x reader}

Genre: Comedy, Slight Fluff, Slight Sensual Themes

Categories: F/M

Relationships: Renguko Kyoujorou/Reader

Word count: 2,791

a/n: continuation of unintentionally roomates which you can find here ,,requests are open

➽────────────── ────────────── ──────────── ❥ 

It had been some weeks since she had gotten used to Kyoujurou being her roommate. So far neither of them had walked in on each other naked--yet. He was pretty tidy and would call her out in a teasingly kind of way that she'd sleep with her mouth wide open which made her pretty insecure, but he insisted it was "very cute." Which didn't make it any better. He could concur that it probably wasn't a good idea to show her the picture he had taken of her (he actually would look at it when he was having a bad day or he just wanted a good laugh; he also nearly made it his homescreen but decided that was maybe a little too far).

Mid-terms would be coming up soon and Kyoujurou wanted to do something fun before all the stress would settle in from piles of homework assignments and study guides. He suggested that the both of them should go to the amusement park and [name] was more than delighted to go, but there was a small issue with this. She didn't know if it was a date or just them simply hanging out. He just brought it up so casually when they had just finished a round of Super Smash Bros. and [name] was trying her hardest not to be a flustered mess about it.

"Just ask him." Shinobu's usual singsong voice was now monotonous. She had had enough of [name]'s shit to say the least. Always inquiring about Kyoujurou since Shinobu and him had been in the same graduating high school class and friend group. Not to mention mid terms were coming up and pre-med was no joke.

[Name] visibly sulked at her friend's tone. She didn't like being a nuisance to Shinobu, even though it wasn't hard to irate her nerves, but this time she seriously needed help and Shinobu was being nothing less than unpleasant.

"Shinobuuuu," [Name] whined. "This is a big deal for me. Please give me advice and I won't bring it up ever again."

The ravenette's eyes darted to the [h/c] pleading gaze, and it was enough to make to [name] squeak. Shinobu let out a sigh before speaking.

"Fine," [name]'s expression brightened, but Shinobu's finger pressing into her forehead made it falter a little. "but you don't need to stop talking about him. Just do it a lot less. I need to focus on exams."

[Name] cheered in triumph and fist pumped into the air, which in turn made Shinobu laugh. She wanted to be there for [name] in anyway she could, just within some restrictions and limitations. Shinobu's face suddenly went gravely serious.

"So here's the game plan."

.❀。• *₊°。 ❀°

[Name] took a deep breath before looking at her reflection. Her outfit was subtle yet cute. A simple blue top and beige skort to prevent panty reveals yet still have the illusion of wearing a skirt. Hair was pinned and pulled back abover her neckline since the sun would be beating down and she wanted to take every precaution to avoid any excessive sweating. Make up was light to circumvent it from melting off her face. Yes, [name] was over meticulous because she was resolute in this hang out/date to be absolutely perfect. And if Kyoujurou had decided to reject her than at least she'd look hot getting her heartbroken.

He had already left over an hour ago since he had to tutor a student in history at the tutoring center. A work study job that he picked up to help cover his tuition and endlessly spoke about when he got back to his dorm when you two were winding down from your day.

[Name] spritzed her best perfume to all her pulse points to extend the life of her scent as it hit her body. She threw it in her bag along with her make up just in case she needed to freshen up. One last look in the mirror and she was finally off to her date, er, hang-out thingy.

The autumn air was irregularly warm and humid. Well, not irregular for Okinawa at least. It was a sub tropical climate which meant mild winters and the moist summers were what [name] favored most about it here.

As she walked out of the dormitory and into the student parking lot, she was nearly blinded by the blond tresses sitting on the bench. Like quite, literally blinded. The sun was bouncing off his fiery hair more than usual and it was causing [name] to squint at him when she approached him. For some reason (she had an exact reason being that she looked super hot), [name] felt bold, and advanced toward Kyoujurou with hands concealing his vision. He visibly tensed and she couldn't help but feel a smile tug at her lips.

"Guess who."

His body now relaxing at the sound of her voice and she felt the apples of cheeks rise into a grin against the palm of her hands. "[name], you're finally here!"

She released her hands as he got up to face her and his jaw went a little aslack as he oggled at her profile. [Name] was stunning, indeed. His adam's apple bobbed up and down as he dryily swallowed. His hair that was now pulled back in a high ponytail let his bangs frame his face beautifully, swayed in the small gust momentarily. She could've sworn that he was blushing at her, but then again it was quite hot...

"You look--um, quite sharp!" He stammered. Kyoujurou mentally socked himself in the face. Sharp? That was the best he could come up with?

[Name]'s expression was now in a state of bemusement before she laughed melodically. To him it was a beautiful melody that he always tried to sway out of her with corny jokes and memes. "Well, thank you Kyoujurou. You look quite sharp, too!"

[Name] wanted to die. She looked sharp? Sharp?! No, she looked Hot! With a capital freaking "H".

Nonetheless, [name] shook it off. She was determined to make this flawless even if it was off to a rocky start. Thankfully the ride to the amusement car was starting to make up for it. The both of them jammed to the playlist they had put together earlier and discussed which rides they were excited about most.

"$50?!"

"You really don't read things thoroughly do you, [name]."

[Name] ignored his attempt at poking fun at her. It was always like this whenever she freakishly exclaimed about information that was news to her, but had been there for well however long the inital post had been there for and Kyoujurou had always made it a point to call her out for it.

"Well, I can't make you pay for it." She deadpanned. And she absolutely meant it. Kind of. Not really. It would mean that it would technically be a date, right? Right? A guy paying always meant that it was a date. [Name] mentally nodded at herself reassuring herself.

"Well, that's too bad." He inserted his card into the chip reader and thanked the attendant while grabbing his receipt.

[Name] bit back a smile as they walked side by side into the park. "Well, I'm going to pay you back."

He looked at her with an uncharacterstically sultry gaze. "No, you are not."

His voice demanding, dropped an octave and it sent a shiver up her spine. [Name] would be lying to herself if she said that it didn't make the her stomach knot up. Kyoujurou pulled out his phone pointed it towards her, trying to get a good angle and lighting.

"Now, give me a smile!" He beamed in his usual cheery tone. [Name] smiled posing her usual peace sign as he clicked away at his phone. Had she just imagined that?

The day seemed to slip past them as they took pictures with their phones and disposal camera they bought at the one of the stands for a whooping $25. Which was a total rip off, but then again bottled water was $5. The pair were laughing as they looked through the pictures they had taken throughout their trip.

"Oh, no. You are not keeping this one." She reached over to tap the trash can on his phone screen to get rid of the terrible photo that was her inhaling funnel cake. But before she could, Kyoujurou moved his screen away from her as he chuckled at [name] getting flustered. There was no way he'd let her get away with such a cute picture.

"I am definitely going to be framing this as soon as we get back." And that made [name]'s face inflame in embarrassment and shock. She was definitely, not going to let him do that.

"You delete that, right. Now!" She tried her best to extend her arms in every which way Kyoujurou was flexing his arms out but to avail. [Name] knew she wasn't going to get her hands on his phone, but she kept leaning over in an attempt to get an advantage on his long arms. That was until she clambered into his lap, face first into his crotch.

Kyoujurou froze and his breath hitched as he lowered his arm down and let unholy thoughts pass through his head but he quickly shook them off. "A-are you alright, [name]?"

Nope, now [name] was definitely going to die. She slowly rose out of his lap and plopped back into her seat, trying her best not to make the situation even more awkward. She shot him a smile in a strive to shake off the graceless action of diving face first into the crotch of her crush.

"I'm all good." She took a deep breath before looking up at the darkening sky. Kyoujurou couldn't tell what she was thinking, but it looked almost as if she was unfazed which he was very thankful for.

"Let's go on the ferris wheel before we leave!" That snapped him out of his thoughts. A grin now making its way back onto his face and a sound of approval emitted from his lips. "Let's do it!"

.❀。• *₊°。 ❀°

[Name] snickered to herself as they entered the ferris wheel seating after letting several people ahead of them. It was all going according to plan, well, not the face planting into Kyoujurou’s lap. That was definitely not in the plan she and Shinobu had concocted.

“So, here the game plan.” Shinobu stated matter-o-factly. Her name were in a crouched position as if in a very important football team meeting. “You’re gonna look hot. Like I’m talking Jennifer’s Body hot. And then—“

”But i don’t have clothes like that.”

“Shut up. We’ll go shopping. And your make up has got to be perfect like I’m talking no melting off your face looking like the Corpse Bride. Oh, and you’re drowning yourself in sexy perfume every thirty minutes.”

”But I—“

”Speak out of line one more time and I’ll kick your ass.”

“Fine.”

“Back to what I was saying. You’re gonna take loads of pics start it off friendly and lighthearted and then bam! You get him on that ferris wheel and get your flirt on. End the night off with a kiss at the top of the ferris wheel.”

Shinobu was extremely gifted in giving pep talks and revving them up. Which was probably why she was captain of the cheer team at their university.

[Name] felt like she was a crazy high. She could practically run four miles nonstop with the attitude she had in that moment.

Shinobu and her high fived, one leg kicked up in to the air with the most triumphant looks on their faces. “We got this!”

She shook her head as if to shake away the thought.

”You, ok?”

She smiled at the slightly dampened Kyoujorou who’s cheek were tinted pink from the heat. Beads of sweat has slid down his temples, but that only seemed to add to his sex appeal.

”More than ok. I love ferris wheels. They’re so romantic.”

Those words left her lips and turned in a smile that was as sweet as candy. Kyoujurou’s heart leapt in his chest as he eyed her intently.

”You could say that.”

He done fucked up again. Kyoujurou wanted to kick his own ass at this point. Why was he so terrible at flirting? It made him look like he didn’t pick up any social cues at all. Which wasn’t entirely untrue. There were many times where Tengen would point out that a girl was being extremely flirtatious with him but it would simply go over his head. He would usually reject the notion claiming they were just being nice which in turn would lead to Tengen face palming. And he thought he was doing such a good job at the start.

The silence was deafening as they reached the top of the ride and it suddenly came to a jerking stop. The view was wondrous. The sun kissed at their faces and grazed the tops of trees and the peaks of roller coaster rides. Brightly colored lights flashed simultaneously down below, but [Name]’s  stomach felt like it was caving in the longer she stared. Very romantic, indeed.

Her face must’ve looked a little green because Kyoujurou’s expression turned into a worried one. “You sure you’re okay, [name]? Have some water.”

She grabbed the bottle he handed to her and instead of water falling like she usually did, she pressed her lips against the same place his had been. Kyoujurou’s eyes widened in surprise as she absentmindedly guzzled his drink down and gave it back to him. His hands turning into fists as he flexed as hard he could to keep the warmth that was rising away from that region.

“Thanks.” She gasped. [Name] wiped her mouth with the back of her hand as she leaned back against the seat. So much for her game plan. She sighed to herself as she collected her thoughts. What difference would it make if she just told him right now.

”Kyoujurou.” The name left her lips so effortlessly. He loved the way she said his name. He would think about it mostly in the shower, but more innocently before he went to sleep.

He raised his eyebrows fully attentive now. She turned to face him as she leaned forward. A different look on her face. Soft and flustered. “I like you, a lot.”

His body stiffened for a moment and a cool breeze swooped past their longing gazes. The sudden realization had dawned upon him that those words weren’t just make believe. She had really uttered them into existence. He hadn’t noticed how close her lips were to his until he felt her minty breath fan against his nose. He didn’t pull away.

[Name] closed the distance between their lips and Kyoujurou instinctively leaned in more as soon as they made contact. His hand cupped her cheek to deepen the kiss and she sighed in delight. A smile now etched on her face had now infected him and he pulled away to look at her. He caressed her cheek as she giggled and he gazed her puzzled.

”Did I do something wrong?” If he kissed her wrong he definitely wanted to know. One thing about Kyoujurou was that he was always open to constructive criticism. She shook her head. The content look on her face still evident.

”Not at all.” She leaned in once more. “I just didn’t expect you to be so frigid.”

She giggled again at his surprised, yet embarrassed mien. However, [name] stopped giggling when she saw the determined look on his face.

”Well, I can do better.” He suddenly captured her lips and she instantly melted at his hot touch. His hand loosely on her waist and she moaned a bit as their kisses turn into feverish open mouthed ones. His lips detached from hers as he felt the the ride coming back down. [Name] felt like her whole body was in flames and there Kyoujurou was sitting there as cool as a cucumber.

The ride shifted the shuttle as the two got up and his hands slipped in hers as he lead them out. She couldn’t believe  the stunt he just pulled. Her fingers on her lips still feeling the ghost of his. He laughed heartily at her reddened face and that captured her attention.

”Don’t worry. We can continue that when we get back.”

[Name] was speechless, but somehow was even more flushed than before. Kyoujurou chuckled at her again as he pulled her in for a side hug as they headed back to his car. The smug look never left his face.

His

Paring :: mafia dark!Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader

Warnings :: 18+, Smut/NSFW, Dark Themes, Possessiveness, Oral(M Recieving), Deep Throating

Word Count :: 2,787

Summary :: Bucky’s had a long day and you’re the only one he can release his stress on

A/N ::....there may or may not be another part... idk yet.... I just really like Mafia Bucky

Some days were better than others, for both you and Bucky. 

So far, your day had gone swimmingly. You woke up, did an easy morning stretch to help you wake up, and proceeded to clean around your house in your favorite sundress. There wasn’t much to do, with the house usually clean due to Bucky hiring professional cleaners to come once a week. Still, the dishes weren’t going to do themselves. 

The highlight of your day was a package being delivered. A book that you had pre-ordered from one of your favorite authors. After you cooked your lunch, you spent the rest of your day reading the book, sitting on the dark grey couch in your large living room. That was all you could do besides watching tv or doing a small hobby to keep you occupied until Bucky came home.

Bucky’s day, on the other hand, was infuriatingly long. He was a businessman and a mob boss, meaning he’d usually have long days. If he was lucky, he’d just have to deal with some idiot trying to cheat him. Today was an unlucky day. He received a visit from Helmut Zemo, the head of a Sokovian Mafia trying to start up in Brooklyn. 

-

Bucky sat at his desk, leaning back in his leather chair as he stared at the man who just entered his office. 

“I already told you the deal Zemo. There’s no bargaining, if you don’t like it save your breath and get the hell out of here.”

The Sokovian ignored him, walking over to a large bookshelf that was against the wall. “You know, for the most powerful man in Brooklyn, you’d be surprised how quickly some of your ‘people’ are willing to betray you if you offer them enough cash.”

Bucky’s eyes narrowed, a scowl forming on his face. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Zemo glanced over for a moment. “The docks.”

A few nights prior, one of Bucky’s incoming shipments of illegal weapons had been robbed. A small number of men were killed, and the rest were injured. There was also a weird symbol that had been spray-painted around the docks, a sign that whoever had done this was publicly declaring war.

Bucky’s jaw clenched and he was now sitting up straight in his seat. “You did that?” “It was quite easy to.”

“So why the fuck are you here now? I could put a bullet through your head in a second.”

Zemo laughed, finally turning to face the other man. “You won’t because you know I’m not stupid enough to come here without just as many men you have.” He let out a small breath, taking a few steps forward. His gaze moved down to Bucky’s left hand, an eyebrow raising with curiosity. “You haven’t married her yet? She’s a lovely woman.”

In an instant Bucky stood up, his hands balled into fists. If a look could kill, Zemo would be dead and his body burning.

“I came to tell (Y/N) thank you. Not long ago, one of my guys got a bit lost and she helped him. Pietro said she was ‘the kindest girl he’d met’ and ‘extremely helpful and friendly.”

Bucky cursed in the back of his mind. It sounded exactly like something you’d do, you were kind and naive by nature, simply wanting to help people when they needed it. It was what drew him to you, and it seemed like it was attracting unwanted attention from others now.

“I’m gonna give you ten minutes to get the hell out of my territory.”

“Why so generous?”

“It’s a nice neighborhood,” Bucky replied sarcastically.

Zemo walked back towards the door, understanding he had pushed the man far enough. A coy smile crept on his face, looking at Bucky one last time. “I’d keep her better guarded and up to speed if I were you. She’s too innocent to be involved with you.”

Once Zemo and his men left Bucky nearly tore apart his office. It took Sam and Steve a good hour to calm the man down and make sure he didn’t do anything reckless. Once he cooled down, Sam revealed that Tony Stark had been the one to cross Bucky. Tony’s father was the previous big bad until Bucky came around.

-

“I don’t give a fuck what you do Steve, just make sure Tony doesn’t think he’s not get strung up on a tree after I shoot that Sokovian bastard in the head.” 

His voice was full of annoyance and his grip on the steering wheel of his car was so tight the whites of his knuckles were visible. It was one thing for Zemo to publicly humiliate his authority by robbing him, but he had indirectly threatened you by mentioning you to Bucky. You were his and his alone. He had invested far too much in securing you, ensuring that you’d never leave him. 

-

Bucky leaned on the doorframe of your apartment’s bedroom, arms crossed over his chest as he watched you step around the room. “What are you doing?”

“Going home,” You muttered, continuing to pack your suitcase.

“That’s on the other side of the country.”

“I know.”

“I can’t keep an eye on you if you’re in LA.”

You looked up from the clothes you were packing, glaring at him. “I know.”

Bucky let out a huff. “So you also know I can’t make sure you’re safe.”

You let out a dry laugh, eyes rolling. “I’ll probably be a lot safer once I’m far away from you.”

The man pushed himself off the door frame, now approaching you with long strides. “You’re not leaving (Y/N).”

You threw the shirt you hand in your hand down, turning to face him. “Yes, I am Bucky, because you lie to me!” Your voice was strained, eyes looking up at him full of pain.

“I didn’t lie to you-”

“Yes, you did! You lied to me about what you did and you hid the truth!”

When you and Bucky started dating, he told you he ran a large ‘supply and demand’ business in Brooklyn and that was it. Like the naive girl you were, who had just moved to the east coast, you believed him because you fell for him hard at first. He spoiled you and made you feel like a princess in public, and in private you helped him release all the pent-up stress he had built up from work. A few months later, you finally figured out why Bucky was always so protective of you and wanted to know where you were 24/7. 

Bucky could see the tears you were holding back, mentally cursing at himself for being the cause. He cupped your cheek with his normal hand. You had to resist the urge to lean into his hold.

“I know I hurt you, and I’m sorry, but…” His voice trailed off. In a swift motion, his metal hand wrapped around your waist lifting you up and over his shoulder. “You’re not leaving me (Y/N).”

“James Buchanan Barnes! Put me down this instant!” You slammed your fists into his back to no avail. “I hate you! I hate you! I hate you!”

“I love you too darling,” He mumbled, proceeding to walk you out of your apartment.

-

You were on the fourth chapter of your book when you heard a car door slam. You sprung up from your seat, moving as quickly as you could to greet Bucky at the front door. When you got there, you saw he had already let himself inside. His brows were knit together, looking down at the door’s locks.

“Why isn’t the door locked?” He questioned before he even saw you.

With the territorial instinct he had when it came to you and his meeting with Zemo earlier, it was clear he was not happy about such a small thing, no matter your excuse.

“Oh, I must’ve forgotten to lock it when I got the mail today,” You said quietly.

He had lectured you multiple times about how important it was you locked the door, even before you move in with him.

You wrapped your arms around his torso, properly greeting him with a smile like you did every day. You had done this so many times, you noticed how long it took for him to softly wrap a single arm around you before walking away. He was upset.

“Go to the bedroom and wait. Now,” He ordered.

Your heart started racing, wondering what was going to happen to you. If he had stress pent up, he would either wait until after dinner or start kissing you roughly the second he stepped in. He had only acted like this when you pushed him to his limit, like when you threatened to leave him or attempted to run away when he first forced you to live with him.

You sat at the edge of your shared bed, hands holding and fiddling with the hem of your dress. When Bucky was this angry, he was painfully rough to the point where you would begin crying. You quickly began thinking of everything you had done recently, wondering what could’ve pushed him to this point.

He walked in, jacket off and the sleeves to his white button-up rolled up to his elbows. Even though your mind was screaming with fear, your body started heating up with desire seeing him. Especially when your eyes glanced down to his pants and saw a hardness forming. ‘Fuck, he’s been thinking about this.’

Walking up to you, Bucky grabbed your chin with his thumb and index finger, forcing you to look up at him. As a sort of last-ditch effort to get some kindness from him, you gave him a doe-eyed look.

He leaned down, pressing a long kiss against your lips before pulling away. “Get on your knees.”

You took in a deep breath, accepting he wouldn’t be gentle. You pulled away from his cold metal hand, sinking down to stand before him on your knees. Keeping eye contact with him, you managed to under his brown leather belt and navy trousers. You looped your fingers at the hem of his pants, pulling them down along with his briefs just enough for his fully erect shaft to be freed. 

With both of your small hands wrapping around his shaft, you could feel yourself growing wet at the sound of his soft groan. At first, you started stroking his length slowly, leaning your face closer to lick the tip and swirl your tongue around the head.

Bucky didn’t allow you to continue this very long. Only a small dribble of precum was licked up before he grabbed a fist full of your hair from the back of your head and pushed himself further in. Another groan escaped him feeling the warmth of your mouth around his cock. He hit the back of your throat and you gagged, not yet ready for him to go deeper. He did it again two more times, warning you that he planned on having you take all of him in his mouth.

Your hands moved up to his thighs to hold yourself steady and you relaxed your throat the best you could in preparation. Once he started to push his dick further in, you could feel tears start to well up in your eyes as he went down your throat. You moaned each time he shoved his shaft down your throat, sending a soft vibration on his shaft.

Bucky eventually started thrusting his hips into your mouth, fully fucking your mouth as tears started to fall out of your eyes. Watching your glossy eyes stare up at him with his cock down your throat he nearly lost it, feeling his ballsack tighten. Not wanting to cum just yet, he pulled out, a string of your saliva falling off his dick and dribbling down your mouth. You gasped and began panting for air, wiping away your drool with the back of your hand.

He sat on the edge of the bed now, pulling your hips to stand in front of him once you stood up. “Off.”

You took off your dress, followed by your bra and wet panties. Already knowing what was going to happen, you moved to straddle his hips. You and Bucky had had sex numerous times before, but you always needed a moment to get used to his size. He wasn’t going to allow that.

With his large hands on your hips, he forced you down his entire dick, groaning at how tight your walls clenched around him.

“Bucky!” You cried out, body tingling as he filled you up, balls deep. 

He held your hips with such a strong grip you were sure there were going to be marks after. He bounced you up and down his cock, watching you with a dark gaze as you moaned and whimpered against him. Only he could make you feel like this, act like this for him.

He thrusted his hips up, and you moaned loudly, back arching as he hit a sweet sensitive spot. “Please!”

“Please, what?” Bucky asked, knowing full well what you wanted. He wanted you to beg.

“Fuck me right there Bucky! Please!”

More than happy to comply, he proceeded to slam into that same spot, your breath growing faster and cunt tighter each time it was hit. His breath was becoming heavy, and his movements ragged.

He watched as you looked down at him fucking you and saw you shudder. “Ah!” Your walls tightened and your release hit you, juices pouring out. Feeling you release triggered his own orgasm, releasing inside of you. You could feel spurt after spurt of hot cum filling you up and your tight cunt gladly took it.

He finally stopped bouncing you, rolling his hips into you and allowing you a few seconds of rest. He pulled his limp dick out but watching your pussy drip with a mixture of both your cum, he found himself hard once again. 

You barely had any time for your mind to clear up after, your eyes widening as Bucky forced you on your hands and knees. Not sparing a single second he rammed back into you, his hand smacking your ass hard. 

You let out a cry, the stinging pain from the spank only lasting for a short while before you felt the pain and pleasure of him filling you up again. 

“Tell me how much you love it,” He breathed out, watching your ass bounce against his hips with each thrust.

“Bucky!” You moaned out, your walls tightening around him again.

You barely had any time to recover from your last high and still sensitive. You started moving your ass against him, feeling his ballsack slapping your clit each time he thrusted. 

“I love it so much!” You breathed out. “I love feeling your big dick fill me up and fuck me!” 

You bit your lip, feeling the juices drip down your thighs. Your arms were starting to grow weak, barely able to hold yourself when you screamed again. Your pussy tightened and released, begging him to cum and fill you up again.

His large hands buried into your hips, continuing to fuck you as you released around him again. His build-up was growing with the sight of you taking his cock, thrusts growing sloppy. 

Bucky wasn’t blind and could tell your arms were going to give out. So, he released his grip on you with his metal arm to lean over you. He wrapped his arm around your chest, holding you up while squeezing your breast. 

Hearing your soft whimpers as he still fucked you did it for him, his hips bucking to release another hot load inside of you. He stayed in you until he finished then pulled out, releasing you to collapse on the bed. 

Weakly, you turned yourself on your back to look at him, face flushed and tear-stained. He lowered himself above you, metal arm pressed down near the side of your head to keep him above you. Bucky’s eyes danced over your facial features. His gaze moved down, watching your chest rise with each pant before looking at the mess in between your legs.

With his other hand, he reached down and dragged two fingers up your wet folds, gathering the juices on them. When he raised them back up to your face, both of your hands grabbed him and began to suck and lick his fingers clean.

“Christ you’re fucking beautiful.”

He pulled his fingers away, smashing his lips against yours. You wrapped your hands around his neck, a hand moving up to play and tug on his hair as you kissed.

Family.

This was, technically, Elyna’s second ever Día de Muertos.

That first autumn had bled into winter in a blur. Things in the house had been hectic, and tense. Understandably tense. Justifiably tense. Even without the exceptional circumstances, the ghost of a murderer hanging over this lovely home, it was easy for traditions to slide a little. It had taken a lot of careful effort to “adopt” her.

Oops. She was doing it again. The thing her therapist had pointed out where she didn’t classify the things that happened to her as real, because she didn’t see herself as real, but everything she felt was more than real so it only made sense to drop that habit and accept herself.

It had taken a lot of effort to adopt her. Yes.

That was what had happened. About fourteen months ago, this family, this wry and well-liked pillar of the local community, had revealed that they actually had a second daughter. Older and taller and much more purple than the pre-existing daughter. And they included her in everything. Last night, she had shared a wonderful Hallowe’en with them.

And now it was November 1st. From one holiday right into another.

Sly wasn’t a particularly spiritual man, despite - because of? - all the actual, literal undead creatures he had battled in his youth. He loved a good excuse to celebrate, though. As well as the big, basically secular holidays, he was happy to join his wife in her own traditions. The Montoyas and the Foxes were spread across pretty much the entire Spanish-speaking world and beyond, and at this point Carmelita essentially just picked her favourites. Factoring in all the globe-trotting they had both done, separately and together, the household’s annual calendar was… interestingly blended.

So, an archetypal Hallowe’en was always followed by a traditional Día de Muertos. It wasn’t a total shift in tone - it was important to remember the deceased with love and good humour, something this household could produce in industrial quantities - but there was a certain reverence to proceedings that was noticeably absent on the preceding night of pumpkins and candy and horror films.

Carmelita took this fairly seriously. That was why Elyna was dreading it.

Sly had stepped out, taking B with him. An annual raid for clearance candy. A shared activity Elyna preferred them to keep for themselves. This was her best shot. She had no idea how she was going to get through this conversation, even removing the possibility of her father bursting in with a poorly-timed joke.

‘Her father’. She reflected on those words as she stalked towards the living room. Sly Cooper was the source of half her genetics. The necessary ingredient that made her a test-tube baby instead of an unfeasible clone. And despite a… tense first meeting, she hadn’t had much difficulty accepting the fact he was her father. It was exactly that. A fact. His overtures of friendliness, everything he did to make her feel welcome, came with a solid, scientific basis.

His wife, though… 

Elyna let herself into the living room. It already looked so different from the makeshift movie theatre it had been last night. This was a small town, with an almost suspiciously low crime rate. There wasn’t that much work even for the Chief of Police, and that leftover energy meant quick and efficient decorating and undecorating and redecorating. 

The only survivors were the skeletons, grinning and painted, specific to Día de Muertos but certainly not out of place last night. But the pumpkins and cobwebs and big orange candles were gone. The back wall had been cleared, making space for several beautiful ofrendas. 

Elyna’s eye lingered on one corner, distinct from what was otherwise a sea of severe foxes. A photograph was the focal point, per tradition. It depicted two raccoons. One had black hair and sharp, intelligent eyes - still noticeably green in the otherwise faded colour palette. She was giving the camera a quiet smirk. The other was only identifiable as a raccoon by the hint of his striped tail sneaking up through the bottom of the frame. His arm was lovingly around the woman’s shoulders, but his face was totally obscured. 

Every year, Carmelita asked if Sly seriously didn’t have a better photo of his father, and every year, Sly would make a fresh joke about the man’s lifelong animosity with cameras. Just another tradition. Another ritual, part of the smooth running of the holiday.

“Your grandparents.”

Carmelita was adjusting a small figurine of an acoustic guitar with pinpoint precision, getting it in exactly the right spot relative to a smiling ancestor. But she had heard Elyna come in, and knew where those hazel eyes were focused.

“Conner Cooper, and his wife Beatrice,” she continued. “B is named after both of her grandmothers, actually. It’s made easier by the fact Sly’s mother preferred to be called Trixie.”

Elyna took another look at the bulk of the ofrendas, remembering her sister’s full name. “But, um, Zoe’s not up here, right?”

Carmelita smiled to herself. “Not yet she isn’t. Or my father. Too stubborn. At this rate, they might both outlast you.”

It was a harmless joke. One Elyna had to stop herself from hearing as a threat.

Carmelita straightened up, turning thoughtful. “We’re overdue for a visit,” she said. “I thought we had introduced you, but apparently not.”

These sorts of forgetful exchanges were becoming rarer. Elyna fiddled with a stand of her black hair - she was growing it out, and still getting used to it, and didn’t need distractions right now. Didn’t need to think about how she never met her father’s wife’s parents. Her step-mother’s parents. Her step-grandparents.

This was her chance. Her best shot. She should just follow her training and seize the moment. Without fear.

“I have a question,” she mumbled. “About this, I mean.”

“Oh?” 

“I, uh,” said Elyna, “have no idea whether I should put up a picture of my mom.”

The living room went silent.

Silence was one of the reactions Elyna had been expecting, and it was honestly one of the better ones. But that didn’t make it comfortable. “It’s just,” she attempted, “it’s kinda unclear to me if it’s all your family, or just the ones you…”

“The belief,” said Carmelita, crisply, “is that by setting up an ofrenda you’re inviting that person’s spirit into your home.”

“Right.”

“So you do it for people you want in your home.”

“Right,” said Elyna again, quieter.

A few moments passed. And then Carmelita sighed. Her posture, which had become rigid, uncoiled a little. “There’s no one answer,” she said, more diplomatically. “The spirit of the holiday is remembering the togetherness of family. But we both know that’s how things should be, not how they always are. Not everyone is so lucky.”

“I’m sorry.” Elyna was back to fiddling with her hair. “I know it’s a stupid question.”

“Not at all. I’ve always held there’s no such thing as a stupid question.” She put on an expression of exaggerated tiredness. “Or at least I used to say that, before moving in with your father…”

Elyna chuckled at that, and Carmelita smiled. That was always Sly’s strategy for smoothing a bumpy discussion - knowing when to include a soft joke. Carmelita had gotten better at it herself over the years.

“Has this been worrying you for long?”

“It’s kind of been in my head on and off for the past month. Sorry for only bringing it up now. And sorry for…” Elyna sighed. “I shouldn’t even be asking you about this. I know how much Mo- …how much Neyla hurt you both. Obviously you don’t want a picture of her in your living room.”

“The question,” said Carmelita softly, “is do you?”

Said question hung in the air for a few moments, unanswered. Carmelita intently watched the teenage girl in front of her. She looked so much like Neyla. But standing there, her paws awkwardly clasped, her gaze nervously on the floor, she couldn’t be more different.

“Do you know the origins of this holiday?”

Elyna managed to tear her eyes off the carpet, watching Carmelita carefully.

“It’s pre-Columbian,” she explained. “The practice of honouring the dead is rooted in the ancient cultures of Mexico. It was an important part of life for the people who lived there long before the Europeans came.  The modern version we celebrate today is a mixture of those original practices with a Catholic influence. That’s why it’s held on this date, for instance - to sync up with the church calendar. I think it’s important to remember it’s a blend.”

Elyna’s ear flicked. “A ‘blend’? That’s a pretty nice way of putting it. I’m no historian, but Hernán Cortés didn’t just step off his boat and ask everyone to play nice, did he?”

“No,” said Carmelita quietly.

“It’s not a blend. A blend would be if the Europeans and the natives set out to make something nice together. This is some kind of Frankenstein monster made when one group was just minding their own business and someone else came up behind them and-”

It was Elyna’s turn to fall silent.

“Oh,” she said.

Her face scrunched up a little, and Carmelita sighed. “That’s… not what I meant. Or at least not exactly.”

“You only kind of meant to call me a Frankenstein, got it,” muttered Elyna, who was, fantastical circumstances or not, still a teenage girl.

“I didn’t call you anything.” Carmelita’s voice was steady. Not sharp, but steely, leaving no room for argument. She hadn’t thought much about motherhood earlier in her life, but she had always been able to keep a firm grip on an unpleasant discussion, and that was one of the fundamental requirements. “Try not to assume the worst of what I’m saying.”

Elyna stayed quiet.

“But… yes. I suppose it might be an applicable metaphor. You’ve got two sides to you, too. You’re Neyla’s, and you’re Sly’s. You’re the result of some cruel revenge scheme, and you’re a person with your own desires. Who you are now is a product of both.”

“That’s… yeah.” Elyna rubbed her arm sheepishly. “That’s pretty much what’s been eating at me. Neyla was an objectively bad person. And like, I never even met her, so it’s not like I’m attached. Or at least I shouldn’t be attached…”

Not for the first time, Carmelita privately despaired at the uncertainty in the girl’s tone. That therapist had a lot to work through.

“…but the fact is, I wouldn’t exist without her. At all. And that’s… It’s just weird.” She paused. “Yeah.”

“And now all those confusing feelings have a physical problem. Whether or not to put up her picture.”

“Yeah…” 

“I’m not being flippant when I say I don’t know what to tell you,” said Carmelita. “Not everyone in my family tree was a saint. No-one can claim that. But as far as I know, we never had a Neyla.”

“As far as you know,” echoed Elyna. “That sounds like the answer, then. Monsters get written out of the family history.”

“They don’t get invited to parties, at least,” she replied. “Which, like I said, is the spirit. It’s keeping your family close, because you never want to forget their warmth.”

Elyna resisted the urge to scoff. Purely for Carmelita’s benefit - it wasn’t directed at her. ‘Remembering warmth’. There wasn’t any warmth to remember when it came to Neyla. To the brisk, clipped instructions Elyna had been left in lieu of a childhood.

She felt the decision click into place.

“Let’s not do it.”

Carmelita, to her credit, kept her reaction diplomatic. “You’ve decided?”

“Yeah. If the point is remembering the good times, well… A photograph of Neyla is just a waste of space.”

In other circumstances, Carmelita would have shown more enthusiasm for an insult that harsh, that confidently delivered. But she knew to tread relatively lightly, so she just offered Elyna a smile. “Well said. I’m glad I could help.”

“Yeah. Thanks a lot.” Elyna nervously returned it. “I was hoping you’d know what to do. And, I knew that you, y’know… I mean, I can ask Dad for advice on a lot of things, and it’s usually pretty good, but-”

“Happy Skeleton Day~!”

The door swung open, revealing a grinning Sly. They hadn’t heard him come through the front door, but he had no qualms about announcing his presence.

“How’s it going?” His eyes, the same hazel as Elyna’s, fell on the ofrendas. “Oh, wow. These look better and better every year, ‘Lita.”

“Oh, I didn’t do much differently…” said Carmelita, but her face betrayed how much she appreciated the comment.

He planted a kiss on her cheek, then planted himself beside her, husbandly. 

“Where’s B?”

“Oh, she ran straight to her room,” he said. “Pretty sure she’s stashing her candy in a secure location. Or locations. Who knows how many caches she might have…”

Carmelita sighed. “Is that raccoon behaviour, or fox behaviour…?”

“Oh, both. Absolutely both. It’s a marvel she eats anything at dinner.”

He turned his warm smile more towards Elyna.

“So, what are you two talking about?”

“Just, uh, holiday stuff,” said Elyna. “I had a weird question. Carmelita is a good person to ask.”

“She is! Honestly, I just follow her lead.” He glanced over to her. “Speaking of, there’s still a few things to figure out about the big dinner. Bentley and Penelope are easy to cook for, but I like to give Murray new options where I can. Any thoughts?”

Seizing this chance for a tactful retreat, Elyna began to drift towards the door. “I might, uh, go check on B.”

“Good idea,” said Carmelita. “Again, I’m glad I could answer your question. You can always talk to me, Elyna.” That earned a smile, once much less nervous.

“Thanks, Mom.”

There was a pause.

Sly was pretty sure that blushes weren’t supposed to show up through fur, and yet, the lilac of Elyna’s face seemed to briefly veer into a much more reddish purple. Her hazel eyes were wide and unblinking. “mrrghg,” she said.

“Come again?” said Sly, unruffled.

“I said ‘okay bye’,” said Elyna and she was gone an instant later.

The door clicked shut with surprising gentleness. Sly chuckled. “Well…”

He stopped, finally noticing his wife had a similar facial expression.

“‘Lita? Everything alright?”

She blinked, twice, and suddenly she was back. It was still hard to slow Carmelita Fox down. “Sorry. Just wasn’t expecting that.”

Sly’s smile was wry, but his voice was soft. “I was.”

Carmelita leaned against him, and they stood there for a moment, half-embracing in their living room. Logistical questions about dinner plans and decorations fell away, briefly, as they savoured the feeling in the air. What had just happened, and the unique atmosphere of the day, and, of course, each other.

The silence was broken by a soft murmur.

“She’s a good kid.”

“Really?” said Sly innocently. “She doesn’t get it from me!”

Carmelita scoffed. 

“Okay, maybe she does,” he admitted. “I have many wonderful qualities to pass on, as is evident in both our daughters…”

He cupped his wife’s cheek. Lost himself, for a moment, in those deep brown eyes.

“But you’re a better influence than I could ever be.”

Her reply was a kiss. 

The moment passed, slowly, but they didn’t hurry to get back to decorating. It was still early, and they had several hours before the annual dinner they held for Murray and Bentley and Penelope - familial relations just as important as the gallery of photographs in front of them. As the girls engaged in hushed discussion of cheap chocolate upstairs.

“Oh,” said Carmelita. “While she and I were talking, I realized that Elyna’s never met my parents. We should fix that.”

“We should,” said Sly. “Sometime in winter, maybe? Whenever suits your folks. Might take us a little while to get over there, but we could throw in a few detours on the way, really make use of the journey…”

She smiled. “And when did I say we’d be going to them? They’d be perfectly happy to come here. You’re just-”

“-taking every chance I see to go on a trip, yes,” he smirked back. “C’mon, ‘Lita, you can hardly be that surprised. Old habits, etcetera…”

“Are you really so eager to escape?”

She said it as a joke, but he didn’t bounce back with another quip. He stood there, in his living room. His daughters upstairs. His parents watching over him from behind the glass of their picture frame. His brothers and sister-in-law, still thriving, quietly, the same way he was, on their way in a few hours. And, above all else, the love of his life in his arms.

His smile was as warm as his voice.

“Nah. We’ve got something pretty good here.”

try my luck.

here’s the long-awaited second part to i believe it could be, though it could be read as a stand-alone! eddie follows up on his promise and he and the reader have a good cute date night. the title comes from the song fool for love by lord huron, which i’ve been listening to a lot lately. 

pairing: pre-movie!Eddie Brock x reader

warnings: none, there be kissin

length: 1,864 words

part one - part three

Your heart raced as you stood in the hallway in front of Eddie’s apartment door.

You raised your fist to knock before quickly lowering it, taking a deep breath, and checking a text from Eddie one more time to make sure that you had the correct apartment number. 

Why were you so nervous? 

You had never been so wound up for a date before, at least as long as you could remember. Maybe part of it was because he was the Eddie Brock, who has traveled the world searching for truth and seeing all kinds of beautiful things in his travels. 

And he saw enough of that beauty in you that he wanted to take you out?

You blushed, far too excited to let self-doubt root itself in your fluttering stomach. In a moment of courage, you raised your fist once more to rap on the door a few times. You heard footsteps on the other side of the door, and after a moment, it opened, revealing an absolutely beaming Eddie. “Hey!” He greeted. “Come on in!” 

He ushered you inside the apartment, and you got to take a good look at the interior. There was a worn, comfy-looking couch and a coffee table opposite a TV, a small kitchen that looked like it had been recently cleaned, and a kitchen table with a closed laptop and a few piles of papers and notebooks. There were a few concert posters and news spreads framed on the walls, and you smiled. It wasn’t a cookie-cutter picture of the perfect apartment, instead it was lived-in and homey. Eddie noticed you looking around and grew sheepish, rubbing at the back of his neck. “I, uh, cleaned up a little bit. Sorry if it’s still a little cluttered.” He said nervously.

You grinned up at him. “It’s a really nice place, Eddie. It feels very you.” The tension in his shoulders lessened. It was comforting to know that he was at least a little bit as nervous as you were, and you found yourself relaxing as well. 

You sat down on the couch in front of the coffee table, where two plates of re-plated Thai takeaway were sitting. He had texted you earlier in the day to get your favorite order, but the lack of surprise didn’t make the gesture any less heartwarming. You heard the fridge door open and close as you were admiring the spread, and then Eddie was taking a seat next to you on the couch, holding a cold beer out to you. “As promised.” He said with a smirk.

You took it from him, cracking it open and taking a sip as he did the same. From there, the two of you grabbed your plates and tucked in, making small talk about the things that you had each done since you had seen each other last. Just like the last time you were in a position like this, conversation came easily, and it wasn’t long before you found yourself getting into a good flow and eventually telling Eddie about something that one of your friends did years ago that still made you laugh, pulling up the video proof you had of the incident and making him laugh so hard that he nearly choked on his drunken noodles. 

When the food was gone, you saw Eddie shift on the couch like he was going to begin cleaning up, but you quickly snatched both of the plates up and were halfway to the sink before he could make a noise of protest. “You’re hosting and bought dinner, I’ve got this.” You chirped, and he shook his head with a smile, grabbing the few empty bottles on the coffee table and following you into the kitchen to dispose of them. 

As you put the first plate into the drying rack, Eddie opened the fridge to get a couple more bottles, popping the caps off and putting one next to you on the counter. You drank as you finished the dishes, and by the time you were done, Eddie had thrown on some music and was leaning against the counter next to you, bobbing his head along to the Van Halen song that was playing softly in the background. 

“Don’t know if I took you for a classic rock type.” You teased as you drained the sink and hung the towel up to dry, glancing over to a retro-looking Def Leppard tour poster hanging on the wall, and he shrugged. 

“I listen to other things, but it’s always a good mood.” 

You grinned, drying your hands off, grabbing your half-full beer, and hoisting yourself up to sit on the island counter across from where he was leaning. “I’ll cheers to that,” You saluted, and he clinked the neck of his bottle to yours with a laugh.  

The two of you continued to chat, eventually moving back to the comfort of the couch. Eddie told you stories from his travels as you finished off the 12-pack in the fridge and sipped on a few fingers of whiskey that he had poured for you. He explained about a couple interesting encounters with locals when he was doing international work, and about a bad experience he had in a karaoke bar in Vegas when he was doing a story on the strip. The way he told stories had you completely transfixed, and you could tell that it was a skill that made him such a good reporter. You ended up pretty close to one another on the couch, you leaning into his side with your legs tucked under yourself and his arm around you, the other free to gesture as he talked. 

After the end of a particularly uplifting story about an experience he had in New York, your empty glasses sitting on the coffee table, he let out a sigh, sinking more into the couch and smiling down at you. “You know, you can tell me to shut up whenever you get sick of hearing my voice, right?.” 

“Why would I do that?” You asked, nudging him in the ribs with your shoulder.

“I don’t know, I don’t want you getting the impression that I’m just speaking to fill space, y’know? You’re just really easy to talk to.” You looked up at him to see a slight blush color his cheeks. 

Your face grew warm as well. “I’m not complaining,” you quipped. He chuckled, blue eyes drifting over your facial features in the moment of silence that followed. You found yourself doing the same, glancing down at his lips and feeling the air in the room electrify. You really wanted to kiss him.

As soon as the thought crossed your mind, Eddie was slowly beginning to move closer, eyes bright and alert for any sign that you didn’t want to take the step, but you didn’t give him the chance to misinterpret anything and pressed forward eagerly, capturing his mouth in a kiss. 

It was chaste at first as the two of you got a feel for each other, but it wasn’t long before his hand was coming up to cup your face. His mouth was opening to yours, letting you get your first real taste of him, and you could only imagine how much you tasted like booze, but you didn’t care because Eddie was kissing you in a way that you hadn’t been kissed in a long time.

The first time you pulled back for air, Eddie’s hands on your hips guided you to straddle his solid thighs and settle in his lap. You felt giddy as he pressed his mouth to you again, this time on the line of your jaw, and you sighed, keeping one hand on his chest while the other gently raked your nails through the hair at the back of his head. The action had him relaxing even further into you, gripping your hips and pulling you impossibly closer to him. 

You could only imagine how the two of you looked from an outside perspective going at each other like restless, horn teenagers, and the thought alone made you giggle breathlessly, tugging Eddie’s head away from where he was sucking a mark onto your neck to reconnect your lips, licking into his mouth and savoring the noise of contentment that he made in response. 

It wasn’t until you smoothed your hands down Eddie’s abdomen and tugged at the front of his belt that he pulled fully away from you, gently taking hold of your wrist and bringing your hand up to rest it on his stubbly cheek. “I don’t think that’s the best idea, sweetheart.” He said gently. “As much as I’d love to, I think we’ve both had a little too much to drink tonight to go farther than this.”

The look on your face must have made him nervous because panic bloomed in his eyes, and he took in a quick breath as if he was going to say something. You quickly silenced him with a peck to the lips and a smile, which he returned with a look of relief. “You’re right.” You said with a sigh as he nipped at your jaw. 

“I can make it up to you later, I promise,” He told you lowly, clearly having gotten his confidence back after he had set the boundary, hands smoothing over your lower back under the fabric of your shirt and leaning in to bite at your bottom lip. You kissed him back, trying to pour everything you could into it because he had just confirmed that he wanted to see you and do this again, and the idea alone had warmth blooming in your chest. 

The two of you continued to make out and stay cuddled together on the couch until a glance at your phone had you groaning. “It’s getting late, I’d better get out of your hair.” 

“I’ll get you an Uber.” He said, tapping at his phone for a minute before tossing it aside and pulling you in for another kiss. “And for the record, I really don’t mind having you in my hair.” He remarked, which made you laugh. 

You gathered your things and Eddie walked you to where the uber was waiting, your fingers intertwined with his. “Let’s do this again soon.” You told him, and he kissed you one more time as an affirmative. 

“Text me when you make it home, ok?” 

“I will.” 

He gave you one last beaming smile and squeeze of your hand before you got into the backseat of the waiting car, and he waved as it pulled away from the curb. You weren’t sure if it was the alcohol left in your system, but you felt giddy about the way that the night had gone, and you were buzzing in excitement at the prospect of seeing him again.

“The two of you are really cute together.” The uber driver remarked, and she gave you a smile in the rearview mirror. You thanked her genuinely, smiling and blushing red.

As you looked out the window of the moving car, you couldn’t help but think that this was the start of something really good. You could just tell.

-

as always, all reblogs and comments are extremely appreciated! i’m trying to work writing back into my regular routine because it’s something that i’ve missed, let me know if there’s something specific you want to see from me!

i’m currently working on an nsfw third part! if you are interested on seeing it here, please let me know! :-)

Love Thy Neighbor - 2

Set post-Endgame: Bucky’s got a crush on the girl next door. 

PAIRING: Bucky x Native American!Reader WARNINGS: slow burn, minor anxieties, eventual smut

read the rest of this series on patreon

Friday passes in a blur. Bucky skips his usual morning run and can barely focus on anything relatively important, and it’s only when Sam gives him a nudge about deadlines when he pushes thoughts of his impending date out of his head and fills out his mission report. 

Saturday comes in a hail of rushing thoughts and a rolling stomach. Bucky can’t remember the last time he was this nervous to go on a date. He starts getting ready at seven, standing under the shower for several minutes and scrubbing away every inch of grime. He even conditions the ends of his hair (something Sam would never let him live down if he saw the expensive-looking bottle) and twists half of it up into a bun to keep it out of his face. 

He used to wear suits on his dates, back when he’d take his girl of the evening dancing. Now, men are more casual, and he digs through his minimally-filled closet to find something nice. He settles for a pair of dark jeans, a gray tee shirt, and a black jacket. It’s probably the nicest thing he has, and when he finally takes a quick look at himself in the full-length mirror on the back of his door, he concludes that he doesn’t look half bad.

Now, if only he could get the deer-in-headlights look off his face…

He doesn’t bother taking much, just his moneyclip of twenties and his phone. He’s called the private car again, and the buzzing on his phone lets him know that the driver is ready and waiting in the parking lot. 

Sam’s stretched out on the couch with a large bowl of popcorn, and he gives Bucky a teasing whistle.

“Lookin’ good.” He sits up as Bucky walks by, his hands stuffed in his pockets. “Here, I got you somethin’.”

He tosses something small and shiny, and Bucky catches it. As soon as he realizes what it is, his cheeks go flaming hot again. 

“I don’t need this.” He holds the condom up between two fingers. Truthfully, he doesn’t. Hydra had taken that option away from him—chemical sterilization was the easiest choice to ensure that, should he ever get released, his altered genetics wouldn’t be passed on. The only person who knows about that little factor in his life is Banner, simply because he oversees all the medical files for the team. “It’s the first date,” he covers.

“Dude, some people do it on the first date.” Sam rolls his eyes. “Just take it.”

Grumbling, Bucky stuffs the foil square into his back pocket and heads out the door. It’s 8:01 when he knocks on your door, and when he hears your footsteps on the other side, he takes a deep breath to steady himself.

You’re wearing a deep yellow blouse and skinny jeans. You’ve done your hair in this beautiful touseled style that frames your face… oh, so perfectly. 

“Hi.” You sling your purse over your shoulder. “You look nice.”

Bucky swallows and holds his arm out for you to take. People still do this, right? “You look pretty.”

Your cheeks flush as you loop your arm through his and follow him down into the elevator. “So… I can drive, if you want me to.”

“I got a ride,” he explains, smiling almost bashfully as the heavy metal doors slide back to reveal the glossy black Mercedes. The driver sits patiently in the driver’s seat, plotting out the route to the movie theatre, and Bucky holds the door for you to slip into the backseat. You take note of the thick glass divider between the backseat and the driver. “We can talk privately,” Bucky assures you. 

“Oh.” You gaze around the luxurious interior of the car. “This is probably the fanciest car I’ve ever been in. Do you get to use this all the time?”

“Only on missions.” Bucky chews on his lower lip. “It comes in handy.”

The drive to the theatre takes a good twenty minutes, and when you finally walk through the tall glass doors, it’s a relief. Bucky offers you his arm again, and you gaze up at the movie selection together. Since everything had gone to hell with Thanos, a lot of classics are being replayed. The only movies that have come out recently are a cheesy slasher film and a buddy comedy. Neither of you do those, so you settle for a running of The Prisoner of Azkaban and fill your arms with popcorn and candy.

Following Bucky’s direction, you sneak to the very back row, where it’s deserted and nobody will see you. You go through half the popcorn during the credits, and Bucky mocks a pout when you tuck the Sour Patch Kids into your purse for safekeeping until you’re halfway through the movie. 

Bucky almost tunes out when you tentatively rest your head on his shoulder. He can smell your shampoo… raspberry and something else sweet… vanilla, maybe. Your arm loops back through his, and he has to fight the urge to pull you right into his lap. He’d done that before, when he was twenty-two and he dragged Penny Williams into his lap in the back of an empty cinema and made her grind on him until she was shaking… but he can’t do that now. You’d probably slap him if he did.

When the lights in the theatre come on, you wait for several people in the front rows to leave before lifting your head from his shoulder. 

“How was that?” you ask. “Good movie?”

Bucky smiles. “Might be a good idea to see the others. Some bits got a little jumbled.”

You grin, cheeks dimpling. “Maybe we can make a thing out of it. One movie a week?”

Oh, Jesus, he’s fallen so hard… “I’d like that very much,” he replies.

He takes your hand in his and stands, leading you down the steps and out into the main hall. It’s late, and the only moviegoers are a couple groups of teenagers. “Do you want to do anything else?” he asks tentatively? “Another movie?”

You giggle. “I can’t do another movie, but if you… if you want, we can hang out at my place for a bit?”

There’s a look in your eye that he can’t exactly read. Then again, being eighty years out of practice isn’t helping. “Sure,” he says, pulling his phone from his pocket to send their driver a message. 

You’re picked up in the same spot, and Bucky doesn’t let go of your hand the entire ride back to the apartment. He follows you into the elevator, and the tension skyrockets. Other than the basics, he has no idea what to do. He used to be good, used to drive girls wild with his tongue and fingers and eventually his cock, but… you’re not just a summer fling. You mean more to him than any girl he’d ever known. 

The moment you’ve closed and locked the door, neither of you seem to be able to hold back. Bucky meets you halfway, cupping your face as your lips meet in a wet, fiery kiss. His heart takes off, beating hard and fast as you press yourself up against him. Your hands fumble with the zipper of his jacket, and Bucky takes over, stripping it off and dropping it to the floor. He backs you further into the room, toeing off his boots as you kick your slippers to the side. 

Clothes fly everywhere, and Bucky only stops when you’re down to your matching panties and bralette and he’s in a pair of boxers that aren’t doing much to hide his erection. Where this bravery came from, he has no idea. Your fingers wander down the plates and lines of his left arm, over the line between metal and flesh, and he brings the palm up to smooth over your hair.

“Does it hurt?” You ask.

He shakes his head. “No. It doesn’t hurt.”

“Good.” You step in and press a kiss just over his heart, and Bucky almost cries at the gentleness.

“Where’s your room?” he asks instead, hands skimming low to hold your hips. 

“Hall,” you reply, “second door on the right.”

Bucky kisses you again and lifts you easily off the floor. He crosses to the appropriate door in just a few determined strides, and once inside he lays you out on the mattress, kissing down your neck and pulling the front clasp of your bralette open. 

“Jesus,” he breathes, and then he’s leaning down and sucking a nipple into his mouth. Your legs spread automatically, opening wide so he can grind himself against your warmth. Your fingers tangle in his hair, pulling the bun free and hooking in the thick, dark locks. 

“Bucky,” you sigh, arching up to get closer to his touch. He switches his attentions, sucking gently on your other nipple until the areola is swollen and pink. “I want you so bad.”

“I know.” He holds himself up, keeping his hips wedged firmly between your thighs. He knows he doesn’t need the birth control, but it might give you comfort to know that he’s thought ahead and brought protection. “I got somethin’ in my jeans, lemme go—”

“I’m on the pill,” you interrupt him, dragging him back down for a kiss. “I’m on the pill, baby, it’s okay.”

Your hand pushes at the waistband of his boxers, and Bucky can’t shed them fast enough. Metal fingers curl into your flimsy underwear, shredding the fabric and tossing it away. You’re bare, pink and wet and exposed, all for him. He strokes himself firmly, gripping the base so he can line up with your entrance, and you gasp, mouth open against his when he pushes in, sliding to the hilt. 

God, he’s forgotten what women feel like inside… all hot and wet, snug around his cock in a way that makes his toes curl. He feels your hands slide down his back, nails pressing in softly, and he starts to move with your moan still trailing off. It’s clumsy at first, his movements driven out of pleasure and passion than actual practice, but he settles into it, metal fingers curled into the sheets beside your head. 

“Oh… yes…” you encourage him stroke-by-stroke, hands firm on the small of his back as he grinds deep. “Right there, Bucky… oh, shit…”

He picks up the pace, and your head tips back, mouth stretching into an exhilarated smile. Bucky can’t take his eyes off it, and it’s only when you suck in a ragged breath and bring your hands back up to hook in his hair that he puts his mouth to work. He finds a nipple again and latches on, enjoying the sound of your high-pitched whimpers.

“Oh, baby,” you arch up, trying to rock your hips in time with his, and Bucky presses in deeper, giving you a sharp twist that means ‘stay still.’ When he gives in to his lust and tries to work a little harder, you let out an audible wince. He stops.

“Did I hurt you?” he asks concernedly.

You nod shortly. “You’re… really strong.”

“Sorry.” He kisses you again. “I don’t wanna hurt you.”

You giggle, and the motion of it makes him groan with satisfaction. “Maybe I should be on top.”

Oh, hell yes. Bucky flips, keeping your bodies together as he moves expertly onto his back. You brace your hands on his chest and toss your hair over one shoulder. Bucky braces his feet on the mattress, cupping your waist in his hands as you start your own rhythm. He settles back against the bed, eyes wide as he watches you move, taking your own pleasure just the way you like it. 

“You look so beautiful,” he pants, “so goddamn beautiful, doll…”

He holds his breath when you take his flesh hand and guide it between your legs. He knows how to find your clit easily enough, and he matches your loud moan of pleasure with his own when he feels your pussy squeeze around him. He rubs his thumb in quick little circles and fights the urge to take control again. 

“You feel so good,” you moan, “I’m gonna cum so hard…” 

Bucky’s eyes almost roll back in his head when he feels you start to pulse. “Do it,” he whispers, “don’t hold back for me, baby, lemme feel it.”

He works you to the edge, and when you cum it’s with a breathless cry as you sink down on his cock and stay there. He can feel you, growing somehow wetter and warmer as your entire body flushes, and he can’t bring himself to stop touching you, only pulling his hand away when you slump forward, batting his hand away from between your legs with a breathless giggle. 

“Sensitive,” you gasp out, leaning down to kiss him. Bucky sweeps your hair up into his metal hand, keeping it away from your face. 

“I loved that,” he replies, pushing his hips up to close the gap where he’s not fully inside you. “Dunno how much longer I can…”

You kiss him again, this time sweeping your tongue over his lower lip. “It’s okay… I wanna feel it.”

He lets you pin his hands on either side of his head, fingers locked together. Your hips start to roll, and Bucky’s breath grows tighter as you work him towards his own climax. He’s not afraid of being loud—he never was a quiet lover, anyway. He lets you take over, reveling in the smack of your skin on his and the wet slide of your pussy and the way your tits press against his chest. 

He’s almost at the edge when he hits the pause button, pulling back from your kisses and gasping out a hoarse “wait.” 

You stop, raising yourself up to look down at him. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No.” He shakes his head, swallows. This is so embarrassing. “I’ve just never… I’ve always pulled out.”

Your eyes go wide when you take in his meaning. “Oh… do you want to?”

He shakes his head and squeezes your hands. “No. I just… you—”

Thankfully, you silence him with a kiss before he can start rambling. “Bucky, it’s okay,” you whisper, “just lemme make you feel good.”

He groans when you swirl your hips, falling back into your steady slide-n-grind motion. He’s already close, and it doesn’t take very long for him to reach the edge of his orgasm. 

Oh, shit, this is intense.

“God—” he rips his hands from yours and hugs you close, burying his face in your chest as he cums harder than he can remember. You wrap one arm around the back of his head, moaning encouragement into the air as he empties into you.

It’s over as quickly as it started, but Bucky’s got a knot in his throat that won't go away, and before he knows it his eyes are stinging with tears.

Fuck, no, he’s not crying…

“Hey.” You cup his face, staring into his face. “Baby, what’s wrong?”

He shakes his head eyes squeezed tight. “Just… intense.”

You press closer, kissing his cheeks and running your fingers through his hair. He calms himself quickly, breathing hard against your soft, sweet skin, and then raises his head to look at you.

“Don’t apologize.” You stop the words in his throat and kiss him gently. “It’s okay…”

“I don’t—” Bucky fights the urge to lower his head in shame, “I don’t cry after—”

You interrupt him with a sweep of your thumb over his lower lip. “It’s okay, Bucky. Let’s shower? You can stay here tonight, we can talk.”

You step into your small shower cubicle, laughing over the cramped space, and by the time you emerge in a cloud of steam, Bucky’s in a state of bliss, and he crawls beneath the sheets with a tired sigh. You’ve gone to the kitchen to grab something to drink, and when you come back, Bucky notices the unopened bag of Sour Patches tucked under your arm.

“We never got to these,” you say, crawling up to lie next to him and tearing the bag open. “Have you ever had ‘em?”

Bucky reaches into the bag and pulls out a red one. “First time for everything.” He pops it into his mouth, biting down through the soft candy. The sour hits him first, and he grimaces as it gives way to the sweetness. You laugh at the expression on his face and bury your face in the pillow. 

“What?” He reaches into the bag for another. “That wasn’t funny, what the hell is in those?”

“Lots of stuff that isn’t good for you,” you reply, still giggling. “God, if sour Altoids still existed, I’d love to see your face then.” 

“Sour Altoids?”

“Believe me, they were not to be fucked with. Especially the tangerine ones.” You nibble the head off one piece of candy and snuggle up next to him. “Hey.”

Bucky turns his head to look at you. “Hmm?”

“I’m glad we did this.” You run your hand up over his chest. “Meeting you was the best thing to happen to me in a long time.”

His heart almost explodes. “You mean that?”

“Yeah.” You suck the sour coating off a green candy. “I went through a really tough breakup after… what happened with Thanos. My ex was one of the people who… well, when he came back, he was upset that I’d moved on and just left me. Then you moved in next door and you’re… well, you.” Your cheeks flush. “Never thought I’d be in bed with the guy I learned about in history classes.”

Bucky can’t help but blush as well. “I’m too old for you.”

“Shut up.” You kiss him, deep and wet and dirty. “You’re perfect to me.”

Reblogs and comments are very much appreciated :)

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paracosm [iii/?]

msr | college au | this chapter: t | words: 2k

she is a puzzle wrapped in high-waisted denim that he’s desperate to solve.

s/o to @o6666666 for continuing to love bb fox and dana as much as i do. also tagging @today-in-fic.

← last chapter. / ao3.

— — —

Fox Mulder is not—despite what some might think, judging by the company he keeps—hopeless with the ladies. He’s had his fair share of dates and kisses and, when the dates and the kissing have gone particularly well, warm bodies in his bed. Or his warm body in somebody else’s bed. Or, on one memorable and near-impossible occasion, the backseat of somebody else’s Volkswagen Beetle.

He even had Diana sophomore year—not his first girlfriend, but certainly his most serious. They had talked about grad school together and about the little apartment they’d rent above the private practice they would open someday. She had wanted to call it Fox & Fowley. He—infatuated but not dumb—had not. (This was, of course, before she took off for a semester abroad and never returned.)

All of this to say, he isn’t some sweaty preteen with his first crush.

And yet.

He can’t eat. Can’t sleep. Can barely focus in class. He’s up at seven—seven!—even on days he doesn’t have to be anywhere until noon, just so he can be at the library by eight.

“Dude,” Langly said last week after Mulder spent a good—oh—forty-five minutes talking about the clips Dana wore in her hair on Thursday. “You’ve got it bad.”

And he does. God, he does. He’s never had it so bad. He’s seen the inside of the library more in the last two weeks than he has in the last three years. He’s never been so late to so many classes so many times in a row. It’s just impossible—actually, factually impossible—to walk away from her when she’s leaning towards him on her elbows, whispering words like special relativity and time dilation and inertial frame of reference.

She’s a physics major—pre-med!—and she reads James Joyce and string theory for fun, and three days ago, she wore her hair in the smallest french braid he’s ever seen and how—how—is he supposed to walk away from that?

He lies awake at night and thinks about her. Every night. All night. About library Dana and her big, blue eyes and her freckles and her sweet little waist. His hands would fit so perfectly around that little waist, he’s certain. He needs to know. That, yes, but so much more.

Where is she from? The closest approximation he’s been able to get out of her is not here. Does she have brothers? Sisters? A boyfriend? God, he thinks he would die if she did. What’s her favorite food? Is she a morning person? A night person? Does she snore in her sleep? Does she kiss the same way she talks, deliberate and measured and smart? What is her damn last name?

It’s become a game now, he thinks. He hopes. He hopes it’s a game and that she’s playing it too, this keep away, this Dana, who are you? He asks her daily. She rebuffs him daily with her self-satisfied smirks, her little pink tongue darting out to greet her lips.

(He dreams about that tongue. He—more than dreams about that tongue. A few choice magazines are collecting dust in his bedroom because of that tongue.)

He’s even asked around, but nobody seems to know a freshman named Dana with a tiny nose and a dry wit and a berry-pink mouth. (God, the mouth.)

Frohike tells him to take it easy. “She’ll come around,” he says. But Frohike doesn’t understand. Mulder’s going crazy. All day, every day, twenty-four/seven, it’s Dana. Dana Dana Dana. His brain is a radio that only gets one station: all Dana, all the time. She is a puzzle wrapped in high-waisted denim that he’s desperate to solve.

Which is why, after two excruciatingly Dana-less days, he approaches her on Monday with a stack of books and a smile.

“Mulder,” she says cautiously, in much the same tone one might reserve for a child who has just wandered in with something unnerving, like a dead rat. Or a bomb. “What are you doing?”

He pushes the stack towards her. “Well, correct me if I’m wrong, but I was under the impression that this was a library.”

“Uh-huh,” she says slowly. “I just didn’t think you—”

“What? Read?” He rests his elbows on the desk and shakes his head. “Maybe you’d know that if you’d have dinner with me. It’s half-price pizza at the bowling alley tonight. What’dya say?”

Dana sighs, then lifts her chin and holds out a hand.

“Card, please.”

He grins as he hands it over and watches her do her thing. Her script is neat and tiny as she copies his name and student number onto the first date card. She stamps it and moves on to the next. She’s on the third when she pauses, her brow knitting together. He tightens down on his smile and tries to look innocent as she sits back in her chair and crosses her arms.

“Mulder,” she says, and god, he could listen to her say his name all day, even exasperated like that. “What is this?”

He drums his fingers on the countertop. “What is what?”

She quirks an eyebrow at him, a wry expression that says she knows that he knows what she’s talking about. She holds up the first book and reads the cover.

“Iron Town by Dana Chamberlain.” Then the second: “Fundamentals of Ecology and Society by Dana Rankin.” Then the third, the fourth, the fifth: “Dana Graham. Dana Olson. Dana Earle. Is this your idea of cute?”

“My idea of cute is you in that sweater,” he says, because she’s wrapped in some fuzzy, grey, oversized number today that swallows her whole and presumably guards against the fan blowing cold air behind the desk. Then quickly, before she can protest, he continues: “This is my idea of practical. You won’t tell me your last name.” He shrugs. “Thought I’d test out some possibilities. How’d I do?”

She looks nonplussed, but as someone who has devoted nearly two whole weeks to studying her face, he feels relatively confident that the little tic at the corner of her mouth means she’s at least a little plussed.

“Are you serious?” she asks.

He nods. “About you? Absolutely.”

She flushes the prettiest pink and drops her gaze, toying with the ripped edge of the Dana Olson paperback.

“You don’t even know me,” she mumbles.

“And whose fault is that?” He leans in a little closer, trying to catch her eye. “In case you haven’t noticed, you’re not exactly an open book.”

He realizes this was the exact wrong thing to say a moment too late as her forehead wrinkles and her lips draw up into a tight pucker.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” she says, slamming all the Dana books back into a pile. “I didn’t realize I owed you my whole life story. Do you need my original birth certificate, or will a copy be enough?”

She starts to slide from her chair, but he reaches out and catches her arm. Her face is red, and she doesn’t look at him.

“Whoa,” he says. “Hey. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. I didn’t…it’s not a bad thing.”

She continues to glare at the countertop, and he takes a chance. He swipes his thumb across the inside of her wrist once, back and forth.

“I like you, Dana,” he says, “but I don’t want to make you uncomfortable. If I’ve been too pushy… I’m sorry, okay? Tell me to go, and I’ll go. You don’t owe me anything.”

She settles back into her seat and sniffs. For a brief, horrible second, he thinks he’s made her cry. But when she finally looks up, her eyes are dry and clear.

“Scully,” she says.

He cocks his head. “Sorry?”

“My last name is Scully.”

The relief, the giddiness that floods him nearly knocks him off his feet. This is what winning the lottery must feel like. Dana (Scully!) brushes a little curl behind her ear and gives him an uncertain smile.

“Scully,” he says, liking the way it rolls around on his tongue. “Dana Scully.”

She nods. “Yes.”

“You wanna get some lunch, Dana Scully? My treat. You can tell me absolutely nothing about yourself. You don’t even have to talk. We can sit in total silence and pretend we’ve never met.”

She narrows her eyes at him but they’re playful, maybe even a little impish.

“Don’t push your luck,” she says.

But when he comes back half an hour later with turkey sandwiches and potato chips and two bottles of lemonade, she doesn’t kick him out. She also doesn’t kick him out when he follows her outside to the picnic tables behind the library, and she continues to not kick him out as she picks one in the shade of a big oak tree. He watches (with what he hopes isn’t slack-jawed amazement) as she pulls her fuzzy sweater over her head to reveal a little blue t-shirt and pale, smooth arms, and still, she doesn’t kick him out.

They sit on the same side of the table and watch other students lounge in the grass, toss frisbees, eat their own lunches. A warm September breeze ruffles Mulder’s hair, and occasionally, Dana’s knee brushes his thigh. He tries not to choke at the contact, electric even through his jeans.

True to his word, they don’t talk, but he eats slower than ever, savoring the nerve-wracking feeling of her next to him, the occasional touch of her elbow as she reaches for her drink. It turns out they don’t really need to speak anyway. She teaches him things even in total silence.

For example: when she finishes her chips, she steals the rest of his. She doesn’t ask permission; she simply watches him from the corner of her eye as she dips her fingers into the bag. He files food thief away in his mental rolodex of Dana facts and nudges the bag closer to her. (She also doesn’t say thank you, but the way she licks salt from her fingertips is thanks enough.)

When all the food is gone, they linger a little while longer, sipping the last of their lemonade. Beside him, she is serene, her eyes heavy-lidded, her face tipped up into the breeze. He wants to ask what she’s thinking about, but he bites his tongue. He promised her a silent lunch. He needs her to know he means what he says.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity or maybe only a minute, the black plastic Casio on her left wrist beeps. Lunchtime over.

Dana stands and does a little stretch. Her t-shirt rides up, baring an inch of milky white stomach, and Mulder is suddenly, painfully aware of the blood in his veins. He forces himself to look away. The last thing he needs is to ruin whatever modicum of progress he’s made this afternoon by ogling her belly.

He stares off into the middle distance until she begins gathering her things. She drapes her sweater over her arm and balls up her trash. After a moment’s hesitation, she takes his trash, too, and dumps it all in the nearest garbage can. Then she wanders back and hovers at the edge of the table, touching the corner with her fingertips.

“Um,” she says. “Okay. Well…”

Her cheeks are pink—though from what, he’s not sure.

“Thank you for lunch,” he says, and she flushes darker.

“You bought it.”

He just shrugs. “You know what I mean.”

She licks her bottom lip, then draws it between her teeth. He tries—really, he does—not to stare.

“I need to…” She gestures vaguely over her shoulder.

“Yeah,” he says, not rising. As much as he wants to follow her back inside and whisper to her for the rest of the afternoon, something tells him to take her earlier advice and not push his extraordinary luck any further.

“Okay.” She raps her knuckles lightly on the table and holds his gaze for a moment longer, then heads for the doors.

The sway of her hips is enchanting, and he can’t help himself.

“Hey, Dana Scully,” he calls.

She pauses and turns around, eyebrow quirked. “Yeah?”

“Okay if I come see you tomorrow?”

She purses her lips (against a smile, he thinks) and begins walking backwards.

“I dunno,” she says with a little shrug. “Guess you’ll have to ask me then.”

Jensen Ackles, AU!Michael!Dean, 14x10: Nihilism (and rambling about “range”)

Jensen was so fucking good, don’t even touch me right now, don’t even look at me. I mean, he’s always good, but with this episode, he kicked it in the ASS.

I don’t feel like I have enough WORDS for it. Behind a cut while I prattle on. (None of the gifs used as examples are mine.)

I watched the episode multiple times to see what Jensen was doing as Michael that so wasn’t Dean Winchester, because he was so fascinatingly NOT Dean. I know there are certain style choices that lend themselves to the differences, like his hair being parted on the other (wrong) side and the painstakingly dapper suits and the newsboy cap. Dean Smith (4x17: It’s a Terrible Life) had his hair parted on the wrong side, too. It’s some easy shorthand for “hey, something about this isn’t quite right.” (Like the French cuffs didn’t give it away.)

Demon!Dean was just Dean without the moral center. He was fun to watch, don’t get me wrong, for the brief time we got him. MoC!Dean was actually closer to what I thought Demon!Dean was going to be, so I enjoyed him more. Watching MoC!Dean massacre the Stynes was epic and so satisfying (and tragic I know because of the kid, I’m not like yay murder). As much as I love the real Sam and Dean, and I’m always happy when they get back to who they really are, these dark side digressions are so much fun because we get to see Jared and Jensen show off.

But there’s more to it than that. Jensen has said that his approach to each new script is instinctive (reads the script once or twice and decides what he’s going to do) and Jared is intellectual (reads it multiple times to feel like he’s really soaked it in). But here, I feel, Jensen has made some very deliberate choices. 

First, A Tangent: I watch different Dark Angel vids on Youtube and there’s usually a comment somewhere about how Alec and Dean are basically the same character, or Alec is Young!Dean. They don’t (always) come right out and say, “He can only convincingly play Dean-like characters”, but the implication is there. The two characters have some superficial traits in common, like sarcasm, physical comedy, Jensen’s face (can’t be helped). But even his face doesn’t really come into it once you hit the latter half of S1 because Jensen’s face changed a lot in the interim. His jaw got stronger, his face got broader. So I watched an episode of Dark Angel and immediately watched an episode of Supernatural (1x3: Dead in the Water). @deanscarlett​ helped me figure this out: Alec is out for out for himself, Dean was always out for anything but himself (except when it comes to pleasure-seeking, when he even allows it). Alec has his own psychological trauma (2x11: The Berrisford Agenda) which adds facets to his character’s mercenary pursuits, but once he locks down that perceived weakness (”I’m always alright”), you don’t really see him break down like that again. His programming is strong; he just buries it. But it serves a purpose: Max had written him off as a loss after she saved his life at the expense of not getting a cure to the virus (2x3: Proof of Purchase). It showed her that he wasn’t just a “happy-go-lucky sociopath”, that he had a story like everyone else, and that meant he deserved a shot at redemption. Alec was relatively unburdened (I mean... genetically enhanced master assassin... star torturer in HELL... Dean wins this round, I think) compared to Dean, who’s had ever-increasing weight on his shoulders since “Take your brother outside as fast as you can - don't look back. Now, Dean! GO!” Even young, Dean was never this carefree except maybe in his imagination or as a way to distance himself from others, or when he got really into the “I’m a badass I save people” part of it.

In this scene, Alec (if the character is Jensen’s age) is 23. He’s found a bunch of transgenics that fled from Manticore (the only home they’ve ever known) because of a fire. They’re all children, ranging in age from elementary school to early teens. He’s annoyed because they interrupted his sexy times in a motel. He’s very dismissive of them and spends most of those scenes throwing pieces of popcorn at one of the X7s, who are all small children. Creepy black-eyed hive-minded small children, but small children nonetheless. He makes smart remarks and rolls his eyes while Max tries to get through to the children to let them know that they should absolutely not go back to Manticore if they want to live. In just a few minutes, she takes apart their foundations: You don’t answer to me. You’re not a designation, you’re a person. You have a name now. You have to make your own choices.

“Why would Manticore try to get rid of us?” 

Alec answers:

Compare that to Dean as early as 1x3 Dead in the Water:

Dean doesn’t even talk the same way as Alec (except in the first few episode, while they were still getting used to their characters), and I don’t mean Jensen’s ever-more-gravelly voice, I mean the way he stubbornly pushes his jaw forward and talks out one side of his mouth or through his teeth. He has his mouth slightly open a lot. Sometimes he barely moves his mouth when he talks, speaking as if saying the words mostly to himself. Like 2x20 where Wishverse!Sam says “You slept with my prom date. On prom night.” Dean says, “Yeah that does kinda sound like me” while barely moving his mouth at all. Or in 4x01 where he holds up the empty liquor bottle and asks Bobby, “What, r’yer parents outta town or somethin?” That’s such a mushy line. He has a mush-mouth that’s only made mushier by hunter jargon and Dean’s... idiosyncratic way of speaking. If you weren’t in this fandom, would you know what I full-on Swayze’d that mother even meant? I always think of this (7x21):

(He can speak perfectly clearly when he wants to make a point, or when they’re pretending to be any kind of authority. I always think of the exchange in 5x14: My Bloody Valentine:

SAM: [mock sadness] That's when a dog doesn't eat-- That's when you know something's really wrong.

DEAN: [pokerface] Remarkably patronizing concern. Duly noted.

He can turn it off when he wants to. That Dean’s Master Adapter thing and it’s FUCKING HOT. Oh, I’m a production assistant now? Cool, aced it in a day. Oh, we’re in prison? This is fine, I’m gonna procure cigarettes. LARPing? Sign me the fuck up. Oh, we’re reporters? I can sound like a reporter. I’ve watched thousands of hours of television, I can mimic anyone. I can fake my way through almost anything. We’re in a different town two weeks from now, I can tell people whatever I want.

OH SHIT, DEAN TANGENT INSIDE OF A JENSEN RANGE TANGENT. Quick, make it look intentional!

Anyway, to me, Alec... Dean... not the same character. Going from one to the other was so jarring. For gifsets or edits where you want to show young Dean Winchester, it totally works for that. I mean, it’s Jensen’s face when he was that pre-Supernatural age... except that Jensen didn’t really look like Ridge Canipe or Dylan Everett when he was that age. (I love Dylan Everett. I don’t even care that his eyes are the wrong color.)

But something else Jensen does is put his own mark on roles that he’s given. Tom Hanniger wasn’t supposed to be as sympathetic as he turned out to be, and most people who watched it stated that they wanted someone else to be the bad guy (Axel was looking good for it) so that Tom would be okay. (Sorry if I just spoiled that for you.) Alec wasn’t supposed to be quite so likable, but that’s what Jensen brought to it. Even Kripke said early on that Dean was different on the page than when Jensen got ahold of him. He finds the heart of the character. Imagine if Dean Winchester had been the guy from the pilot this whole time, grossly leering at Jess to make Sam uncomfortable and defensive. 

Remember that Jess first says “Your brother Dean?” with a pleased smile on her face.

DEAN: [instantly leering] Oh, I love the Smurfs. [ogles cleavage] You know, I gotta tell you. [steps too close] You are completely out of my brother's league. [suggestive grin]

JESS: [smile fading, clearly uncomfortable] Just let me put something on.

[JESS turns to go. DEAN's voice stops her.]

DEAN: [isn’t discouraged by her discomfort] No, no, no, I wouldn't dream of it. [another leer] Seriously.

When I first watched that, I thought: “Pussyhound with control issues? That’s your brother’s girl, don’t be skeevy.”

But before long, you realize what it was: Contempt. He wasn’t interested in Jess. “I’m going to make you feel very unwelcome because who the hell invited YOU?” It’s very possessive.

Think about that first scene with Dean after “Easy, tiger!” and then Dean a mere 9 episodes later, in “Home”, trying to get through to John because he’s scared, his voice breaking, his eyes filling up. During that first scene, would you have predicted something like that? "My heart’s gonna break for this bossy bad boy creep.” In fact, by the third episode of the series, it has. Sam tries to make a note of it and gets shut down by Dean right away. "I’ll show you a little, but that’s all. Don’t test me.”

DEAN: You're scared. It's okay. I understand. See, when I was your age, I saw something real bad happen to my mom, and I was scared, too. I didn't feel like talking, just like you. But see, my mom—I know she wanted me to be brave. I think about that every day. And I do my best to be brave. And maybe, your dad wants you to be brave too.

Later:

DEAN: Oh God, we're not gonna have to hug or anything, are we?

It’s not until 2x20: What is and What Should Never Be where you see how Dean feels about Jess now that he understands how important she was to Sam: He hug-tackles her from out of frame, and if she never died... There were more layers of Dean revealed in that episode than Alec got his entire season. (Don’t even get me started on that episode, I’ll just start crying and I’m already so off course with this post.) 

Jensen took this role and made it as iconic as it is. He protects it.

I’m not saying another actor couldn’t have also “sold” that role and made it their own. What I am saying is, I don’t think that another actor would be playing the everloving fuck out of that role -- with all its twists and turns, advances and setbacks -- 14 years later with seemingly as much passion (if not more) than when they started.

But Jensen didn’t leave Dean in that swaggering, cocky, Han Solo place. He deepened the character, added layers, he shows us the cracks and the flaws. The show would NOT have lasted 14 seasons without these two actors. God, I only watch it to see what’s happening to them and see the ways they found to challenge themselves in otherwise unremarkable episodes. It’s like a troubled relationship where you’re like “No, I’m not watching it again ever” and then it texts you at 3am with “wyd” and suddenly you’re playing an episode and wondering about your life. 

I went into that long-ass, rambling, what-even-are-you-talking-about tangent to set you up for this:

Nihilism was NOT an unremarkable episode.

This is not like any other role that Jensen has played before.

There’s really no trace of Dean Winchester in Michael except the resemblance (and the daddy issues, I suppose). And even that’s played down with the neat hair, the suit, the artful "I know my best angles” way that he presents himself to people. There’s not even a trace of other characters that Jensen has played. It’s an entirely new role for him.

Michael carries himself elegantly. The perfect posture, the poise, the careful, graceful motions. Dean kind of slouches, looms, or does a parade rest sort of thing where he’s braced for whatever might happen. He’s got a big ambling swagger. He puts his feet up on tables or sits with his legs sprawled apart.

Michael eerily doesn’t blink as much as you would expect. As Dean, Jensen blinks a lot and closes his eyes, sometimes for a few seconds in the middle of a line, as if he’s processing his thoughts. I love it. It doesn’t start happening until S4 or so, where he wants to show the general weariness of the character. It happens the most when he’s angry or exasperated. But Michael is laser-focused.

Michael speaks very precisely and almost ceremoniously, like he’s selecting each word for the maximum impact. He has ALL the time in the world. Dean talks like... well, Dean. This is the big one for me. He just doesn’t SOUND like Dean, even though it’s the same damn voice. It’s in the cadence. He also holds his chin upright so his voice projects differently, and his jaw isn’t clenched like Dean’s usually is. His voice comes across as smooth and oozes condescension. 

Michael, in keeping with his wardrobe and (understandable) superiority complex is very fussy. While Sam, Cas, and Jack are talking, he’s speculatively opening and closing his hands in the background as if trying the cuffs, but he doesn’t even bother to struggle. While he’s talking to Cas during the big monologue, he absently picks a speck of something out from under a fingernail and neatly refolds his hands on his knee. He puts himself in those 3-piece suits. He has expanded to take up all of the possible Dean-ness and he’s very proud of his vessel. The human that used to be in control could not possibly matter less. As far as he’s concerned, Dean was his the moment he was even born.

Michael’s expressions are very different. Dean has a very expressive face. In one 5-second gif, you can identify a number of little micro-expressions he goes through. His face is almost never still unless something has gone very wrong. His eyebrows are all over the place. He’s squinty from having scowled for so long. He absently curls his lip when he talks. Because Michael doesn’t have all the trauma and worries that Dean has, he keeps his expression smooth. He looks completely dignified. Because he feels he has absolutely nothing to fear, his expressions are supercilious and disdainful.

Michael is very, very serene. He’s a BEING, and currently immortal. The things the “pig-filthy humans” are doing don’t really seem to concern him. “He's a gnat,” he says about Dean. He’s waiting them out because to him, they’re the blink of an eye. People keep trying to get a rise out of him, I think because he wears Dean’s face and they’re desperate to see a glimpse of him. Michael just doesn’t give a shit. Holy fire? Whatever. These cute handcuffs? That’s adorable. 

Look at the image below. There is no Dean at all, there is barely even a flicker of concern. His smile here is almost like, “You are naive and tedious. I’m just waiting for my army to get here. Might as well relax.”

I’m sorry, I’m just very, very excited and I’m so proud of Jensen. He was already brilliant, but this kicked it into a whole new level.

What killed me:

* Don’t interrupt me.

* Dean’s not home right now. Please leave a message.

* (”With these angel cuffs on, Michael’s under control.”) You keep telling yourself that.

* THAT CREEPY ASS SMILE after Sam says that the Impala’s trunk could hold Michael!Dean too. IT’S SO CREEPY WHAT IS IT

* I called them. [smiles, fake gasp of surprise] It’s a party.

* (”Sam, are we going to die here?”) ANOTHER CREEPY LITTLE SMILE like he could not be less intimidated if he tried.

* I can hear you. [they move about 5 steps further] Really?

* Remind me, Castiel, we’re west of Kansas City? (Dudes, he is an archangel, did you think walking into another room was going to keep him from hearing you?)

* Yeah, put a chair against the door. That’ll help.

* The last thing you’ll see is this pretty smile. AND HE DOES THE TONGUE THING THAT JENSEN DOES so in the small moment to me he was Evil!Jensen. I would read that fanfic. it made me SO uneasy.

* I’m in his head. LITERALLY.

* (”He’s lying.”) No, I’m not. And I can still hear you.

* God -- Chuck -- is a writer, and like all writers, He churns out draft after draft. (The way he sort of labors over every letter in the word “Chuck”, it’s so contemptuous, almost like he’s saying “Fuck”?)

* He never would’ve been so... anemic. [absently cleans a fingernail]

* [leans forward] Even God can die. Ugh, the chill that went down my spine.

* Cool science project. 

* When they put the electrodes(?) on him, he’s sort of glancing back and forth, HE’S SO AMUSED, he even laughs disparagingly. 

* Oh, Cas. I believe in you. LOL

* In there? You’re all mine. *audible swallow*

Ugh, if AU!Michael!Dean was a lotion, I would smear it all over my body.

Thank you for coming to my Jensen Talk.

Shea/Elliot - Pre-Punishment

Date: 7/17

Where: Elliot’s room @switchysmythe

Happenings: Emotional break up sex.

Shea didn't know what he was doing. He knew he had to report for the punishment, but this seemed more important. He arrived at Elliot's door, having no idea if he was even going to be there, but he had to try anyway. He knocked softly and leaned against the frame, hoping this wasn't a complete failure.

Elliot frowned when he heard a knock at his door. He hadn’t been expecting anyone. He puts his phone down on the couch and gets up. He’s got a pair of grey sweatpants on and a thin t-shirt, his eyes half wet and half dry from his shower. When he pulls the door open to see Shea, his heart drops a little bit. He clears his throat and runs a hand through his hair. “Uh, hi, did you forget something?” he asks wondering if Shea hadn’t took everything when he came to get his stuff.

Shea licked his lips, nervous to be there at all but he couldn't hide the way his heart picked up at the sight of the other. "I just..." and he didn't have words for what he was there for, didn't know himself until he was stepping into Elliot's space and wrapping his arms around his middle. "I'm so sorry," he said softly, tears prickling at the corner of his eyes, "I'm so needy and dI had to see you and I know that's not fair. I'm about to be punished and I had to see you first."

Elliot really wasn’t expecting the hug from Shea and honestly he kinda wanted to move away from him but he didn’t because the submissive was apologising and he had promised to still be there for him. He sighs quietly and wraps an arm around him as he moves them backwards so he can shut the door. “Why are you being punished?” he asks, ignoring everything else because this wasn’t fair but he didn’t want to argue.

Shea knew this was bad and he couldn't seem to stop himself from staying wrapped around the other, pressing his body firmly into the familiarity of the one he did love. He rested his face against his neck and couldn't stop his lips from brushing over the warm skin, the scent and taste everything he'd desired over the last week. "For mouthing off," he whispered, speaking against his skin. A hand slid to rest at the small of Elliot's back, fingers gripping to keep them from parting.

This used to be something that came so naturally, so easy, holding Shea, but it was tainted a little bit for him, knowing Shea had ended it because he wasn’t good enough for him. He didn’t agree with punishments so he didn’t agree with Shea being punished for mouthing off. “Seems kinda ridiculous,” he says with a shrug of his shoulders. He lets out a breath as he feels Shea’s hand on the small of his back. Shea obviously just wanted someone to be there for him before it and it kind of annoys Elliot that he’ll still come to him for this but doesn’t want to be with him. “Why you not got a skirt on, anyway?” he wonders.

Shea hadn't expected it to hurt so much when Elliot didn't respond to his needds and tears filled his eyes, making him cry all over the boy yet again. "It was," he sniffled quickly. He looked down at his clothes for a moment before wrapping himself up in the Switch once again. "I just needed to know it's still okay with you," he whispered, "You're the one who... you always let me know it was okay. And I didn't realize... I didn't know it would hurt this much, needing you in my life."

Elliot can’t hear this, how hard it was for Shea, because he ended it. He’d gone from sad to angry at the situation over the past week. “It is okay,” he tells him as he moves his hand to brushes his fingers through Shea’s hair. “And it always will be, okay?” he says as he pulls back slightly so he can wipe at his tears. “Whenever you think it isn’t okay, just remember I think it is, and so does everyone else here.”

Shea felt broken for the boy he'd hurt so badly and he knew it, knew Elliot was lying to him. "I wish so much it was you," he whispered, "I wish... fuck, I need you so much and I hate not having you there through this, that I can't come to you anymore." He brought his forehead to rest against Elliot's, breathing rough against his lips, "I need you so badly."

“You can come to me,” Elliot tells him. “I told you I’d always be there for you, and I mean it. My feelings haven’t changed,” he says with a shrug of his shoulders. He can’t just switch his feelings off even if that would probably make the whole thing easier. Shea’s words, and the way they’re spoken against his lips, go straight to his cock. He swallows thickly before he thinks ’fuck it’ and crashes his lips against Shea’s. He presses him against the wall, covering his body with his own as he deepens the kiss.

Elliot's words were comforting and something he needed in a time like this, but having him kissing him, something he so desperately wanted was unlike the words, comforting in other ways. His hands slid up the back of his shirt, gripping his skin tight to his own body, one of his legs hitched over Elliot's hips to feel him closer. He kissed hungrily, as though it was the last kiss he'd ever have. "Fuck," he moaned, kissing him again and again.

Elliot knew this probably wasn’t the best idea, it was already hard enough without adding more complications to it. He couldn’t help himself though, Shea was here and he couldn’t not kiss him. He’s breathless as they kiss, his hands grabbing wherever they can reach, moving from his hair and down to his hips, one of his hands gripped at the thigh of the leg over him. He gets lost in the moment of kissing him, knowing it might be the last but at least they’ll get a last. He wants to say he misses him but the words don’t come instead he just deepens the kiss, feeling possessive and needy.

Shea knew this was bad, he was taking too much but now that he was there, he couldn't stop. Feeling Elliot's hands all over him, like he was feeling just as despserate was so good and Shea reveled in it. He moaned against his lips when he felt that grip to his thigh and took the opportunity to grind his hips into Elliot's, wanting him to feel how turned on he'd made him.

Elliot moans into his mouth as he grinds his hip up against himself. “Fuck,” he moans against his lips before he’s moving his hand to press against Shea’s cock, palming him through his pants. His own cock is growing hard knowing that Shea is hard for him. He pulls back slightly to undo Shes’s pants. “Too many clothes,” he tells him as he works on getting them down, he’s being fast and rough but he can’t help it he just wants to feel him. Once the pants are off his hand is back on Shea’s, hand curling around his cock, stroking his thumb against the tip to tease him. His lips find Shea’s neck, sucking and kissing and licking as his hand works on his length.

Shea kept waiting for the moment this was going to end and Elliot was going to push him away, like he should. But it didn't. Feeling the hand  against his cock was incredible in this moment but being undressed by the other was even better. "Yes, too many," he whimpered, holding onto him as the clothes were strewn aside and he felt that glorious hand on his cock. He pushed his own palm to Elliot's length, stroking through the clothes as he moaned at the attention Elliot was giving him elsewhere.

“Fuck,” Elliot moans against the other’s neck as he feels pressure to his own cock, his hips bucking forward. He doesn’t really care about himself right now, though, not when his hand is on Shea. He feels hot all over, stomach doing that flippy thing it always does when he’s with the submissive. He gets to his knees, hand still working on his cock as he uses his other hand to push his shirt up so he can kiss over his stomach, lips working their way down until his mouth is inches away form his cock, he peers up at him as he takes the tip into his mouth, cheeks hallowing as he sucks. His hand still stoking the base of his cock as he begins to take him into his mouth, his eyes never leaving Shea’s face.

Shea kept moving his hand until Elliot moved away and he watched with awe as the other dropped to his knees. He couldn't look away from the beautiful sight of the man on his knees for him. "Daddy," he whimpered, the title falling without a thought as his lips finally found Shea's cock. He wanted to buck his hips, encourage him but at the same time, couldn't without permission, so he forced himself to stay still, his eyes never moving from the other's face.

Elliot groans around his cock at the word uttered from the submissive, it only encourages him, his cock twitching in interest. He feels like he might fall apart just from sucking his cock. He’s missed this, though, and it hasn’t even really been that long but god he craves it and he hadn’t realised just how much until right now. He pulls back for a moment to breathe, hand still working on his cock. “Fuck my mouth, baby,” he says before his mouth is back on his mouth, taking him in again.

Shea's moans only increased the more his cock was sucked by the other, and he missed this feeling. When he pulled back for a breath, Shea reached to brush his thumb along the other's lip, able to feel his spit there. At the order, all he could do was nod. He slipped his hand into Elliot's hair and then thrust his hips forward, bucking slowly at first but gaining more momentum until he was fully fucking his mouth, forcing him to take all of Shea's length. He could feel it all over and he groaned happily. "Fuck me," he managed to say, "Daddy, you gonna fuck me?"

Elliot lets Shea fuck his mouth and as he does he runs his hands up and down his thighs before reaching up to grab his ass. At the words Elliot moans around his cock before he pulls off, jaw aching slightly but in a good way. “Yes, baby, I’m gonna fuck you,” he tells him, his voice low and hoarse. He stands up and takes his sweatpants off, revealing his own hard cock. He then tugs Shea over to the couch before getting some lube.

Shea wasn't used to this side of things, being allowed to fuck someone's mouth, but it felt incredible. Elliot kept touching him, encouraging him until he was pulling off and Shea knew what was coming. He watched him stand up and take off his pants, Shea's eyes on the man's cock and not the rest of him. He was pushed over to the couch and he bent over, showing off his ass as he waited for Elliot to join him.

Elliot groans at the sight of Shea bent over for him. “So fucking beautiful,” he praises quietly as he runs his hand over the submissive’s ass, squeezing it possessively. He then lubes his fingers up, pressing a digit against his hole. He works his finger inside of him as the other hand squeezes and caresses his cheek. He adds a second finger, stretching him open.

Shea didn't want this to end and reached back to part his cheeks to give Elliot better view of him. He moaned as he was stretched, knowing what was coming next and he was aching to be filled by the other. "Oh, god, please," he began to beg, "Please, please, fuck me."

How could Elliot say no? Shea was so needy, as always, and he couldn’t not fuck this beautiful boy. He knew it’d make it harder for him, make him miss Shea even more than he already did but he was lost in the moment. “Fuck,” he moans as he presses his fingers in deeper before he pulls them out completely. He adds more lube to his hand and strokes his cock before lining it up with Shea’s hold. He grips hold of his hips and pushes inside of him, groaning at the tightness.

Shea cried out in pleasure as he was finally filled, feeling like he hadn't had this in ages. He pushed back on the cock filling him, fucking himself as though Elliot were a dildo for him to use. He was writhing from the need of it all and he was gasping for breaths. "Thank you, Daddy," he said quickly, still fucking himself, "Thank you for your cock."

Elliot’s cock was so hard as he fucked into Shea, the push and pull of Elliot fucking into him and Shea doing the same was amazing. His fingers dig into the skin of Shea’s hips as he fucks him. It isn’t slow or careful, it’s all heat and passions and rough and he’s breathless. “Fuck, baby, you feel so good,” he grits out. He runs the palm of his hand over the submissive’s left ass cheek before he brings his hand up and slaps it down onto his ass.

Shea moaned deeply as he was spanked, and he had to stop his own movements, completely taken over for the feel of Elliot fucking him. "Please," he begged, wanting to be spanked again and again, loving the feel of it all. He was writhing beneath him, overwhelmed in all the ways he enjoyed with the other male. He could only hold onto the couch as clenched his ass around the other's cock.

Elliot does it again, and again, make the spanks a little harder each time as he continues to fuck him. He doesn’t want this moment to end but at the same time he wants to bring Shea to the edge, make him fall apart at his hands. “Such a good girl, so pretty,” he moans even though Shea hasn’t put his girl clothes on, he still wanted him to know he was the prettiest girl.

Shea moaned with each spank, loving this side of Elliot and he wanted more, but knew not to ask for it. He was fully hard and he loved that he could only take what the other was offering him. "Good girl," he repeated, lost in the intesity of it all, "For you, Daddy. Always for you." He arched his back, pushing into the thrusts and clenching his ass as his orgasm neared. "So close, Daddy," he moaned loudly.

Fuck, did Elliot miss this. Missed Shea calling him Daddy, missed him falling apart for him. “You are, baby, always such a good girl for me,” he says as he spanks his ass again, even harsher this time because Shea’s close and he knows the other likes it. Even if he can’t be as rough as the submissive would like, he wanted to try - he knew it seemed pointless now, though, Shea had made his decision. But if this was the last time, he wanted to make it good for him. He thrusts his hips harder, faster, slamming into the other’s ass as he fucks him with all he has. “You can come, baby, come for me, pretty girl,” he says as his hand smacks against his ass again

"Oh, Daddy," he gasped, feeling the pain etched from the spankings all over his ass. It didn't take long for him to reach his release, the mixture of pain and pleasure all that he needed and it was wonderful coming from the man he care for so deeply. "Please, you too," he urged, his ass clenching as he came, "Please Daddy, wanna feel you come."

As Shea came, Elliot doesn’t let up on his thrusts. He’s close himself and the noises coming from the submissive were just helping him along. “Fuck, baby, you feel so good,” he groans in a low voice. When he feels him clench, his hips jerk out of rhythm with how good it feels. “Fuck,” he moans again, hips bucking widely before he feels his stomach pool with heat as his orgasm hits him, his legs practically shake as he comes, hips slowing.

As he was filled with Elliot's cum, Shea knew it was different and tears filled his eyes, because this wasn't like any time before. He held onto the couch, hoping to hide his emotions as he came down from his orgasm and he knew Elliot would be pulling out and that would be it. He'd taken advantage of him worse than before and he was still an asshole. "I'm sorry," he managed to whisper, a few tears slipping down his cheeks.

Elliot didn’t know what to do when Shea started to cry. He felt like an idiot as he pulled out of the submissive. This wasn’t supposed to be how it went. He takes a few moments to compose himself because he’s not really sure what to do. “Why are you sorry?” he asks as he puts his sweatpants back on and runs his hand over Shea’s back.

Shea stood up and turned around in his state of undress and instead of covering himself, wrapped his arms around Elliot's middle. "It felt so good and I know I never should've wnated this," he whispered, "But I just miss you and I hate that I've hurt you. And now this. I know it's my fault and I'm so, so sorry, Daddy. I'm so sorry."

Elliot wraps his arms around Shea, hugging him tight. He doesn’t want him to feel bad even if Elliot is hurt, it’s not actually Shea’s fault. “Hey, stop saying you’re sorry, please,” he says. “You have nothing to be sorry about. It’s not your fault, Shea. You want what you want and that’s not me and that’s just the way it is,” he says with a shrug of his shoulders. “You don’t have to feel bad about that.” He brushes his fingers through his hair and presses a kiss to the side of his head, sighing quietly.

"I still want you, even if we don't want the exact same things. I still  love you. I mean that," he said softly, sniffling against him, "And now I have to go and be punished and I hate that I have to leave you like that. I wish you could Dom me, like really, Daddy. That's why I split off but I still have no one to do it and it hurts everywhere."

The fact Shea wasn’t even doing what he wanted even after ending things with Elliot didn’t make the situation better, it made it worse honestly. “Yeah, I know, I wish I could too,” he says quietly. He can’t do this, he feels panicky all over. He swallows thickly. “You good for after the punishment, though, yeah? You gonna be getting proper after care?”

"Yes, Sir. Proper aftercare and all. No need to worry," he said, pulling back and putting his clothes back into place. He cleared his throat as he realized he stopped crying. Wiping at his cheeks, he sighed, "I'm going to clean up before I go." ANd with that, went to the bathroom without another word to wash himself and his face, before returning to Elliot. He had the need to leave, so he kissed him again and walked to the door.

“Yeah, well I still will worry,” Elliot admits. Just like Shea, his own feelings hadn’t gone away either. He still cared for him. “Okay, baby,” he says quietly. He watches as Shea walks to the bathroom before he runs a hand through his his hair, letting out a frustrated groan. He flops back on the couch as he waits for Shea to wash up. At the kiss, he lets out a happy hum before another sigh falls from his lips as Shea walks to the door.

Strowlers

Season 1: Episode 1

Chapter 1

AO3 Link

Summary: In a world where magic is both real and illegal, a librarian tries to help protect a young girl discovering her powers, while her girlfriend makes a device that helps to find unregistered magic users.

Full video episode can be found for free here!

You want the truth? I think the old magic found it’s way back into our world in a dream.

Just a dream. Nothing more.

***

A typical grey Seattle sky spread unbroken over the Yesler Branch of the Seattle Public Library. Birds sang in the trees of the old neighborhood, plants green and lush from moderate summer rains. From the early morning quiet, a young woman strode up the brick walkway of the library, dancing slightly to music playing through her headphones. She bopped and swayed as she paused. Coming strong or weak, stand and face your equal, and we’ll turn this world around. SJ Tucker was a goddess.

Whit smiled as she moved to the new album her girlfriend had surprised her with. Amanda didn’t always get her taste, but she made the effort to try. Even though it was Amanda’s big week. Her presentation should be starting any time now. Whit made a face, a bad taste growing in her mouth at just the thought of A.R.C. That soulless organization. Thankfully Amanda wasn’t like the Preceptors; she was a beloved professor and a skilled researcher.

Shaking away her pall, Whit pulled her silver compact from her backpack, checking herself. Her bright yellow beanie rested on her tight ringlets and small braids, framing an oval face. Only a little eyeliner and mascara used to enhance the dark brown of her eyes and scattered little moles. In the circle of the mirror, her smile was hidden, reflected eyes serious and masked. This was her ritual, she supposed. With a snap she closed the compact and slipped it back into place. Collected and settled, she walked up the steps to the library.

“Hey, Pepper,” Whit flashed a smile to her boss, the small woman already at work behind her computer. “Where should I start today?” She slipped into her shared desk space, quickly logging in. Their desks were in the entrance to the open foyer, Pepper’s lovely smile and incredible depth of knowledge ready to aid any knowledge seekers. Whit had been a librarian for a while, but she fully acknowledged that she had a long way to go to catch up to Pepper’s knowledge.

Pepper straightened, her bangle bracelet clinking softly as she brushed her hair from her face. “Hey, sugar.” Her smile lit up her timeless beauty with a welcoming glow. “Maybe get the holds started?”

“Sure thing,” Whit slipped her badge over her head, fluffing her hair out from under the lanyard and started towards the task.

“Oh,” Pepper pulled her attention back, “You still want to take the first story time today?”

Whit smiled crookedly and reached down into her backpack and pulled out a worn book, the binding fraying and pages well loved. Another gift from Amanda, from when they had first started dating. A lucky and rare find from Twice Sold Tales, she had been told. “Got it covered.” Reading aloud was one of Whit’s favorite jobs at the library, she almost always volunteered to adopt silly voices and encourage the kids to play. Plus, she and the regulars had been slowly working their way through the unusual collection encased within the pages.

“Fairy tales,” Pepper’s blue eyes went distant for a moment, a memory taking her away. Whit always bit back the urge to ask where she went in these moments. Pepper certainly had more wisdom, more history, than anyone she had met before. But she never asked; delving into other’s lives wasn’t something she did. They might want to return the favor.

Pepper’s smile broadened again, eyes crinkling in genuine warmth. “Always an excellent choice. Children always need some truth in their world.”

Whit nodded and faked a smile, turning to get to work. Very seldomly were fairy tales truth. She would have magic if it were.

“The Goldfinch and the Magic Mirror.” Whit sat on the floor of the second level, holding up a book to display the detailed illustrations to the gathered children, reading aloud in a dramatic voice. “A bird catcher’s daughter was checking traps along a stream and found a goldfinch ensnared. As the girl was about to drop the bird into her bag, it spoke. ‘Human child, show me mercy. My family will starve if I can’t fly home to feed them.’”

The children were entranced, eyes trained on the librarian, mouths slightly parted in concentration to reveal missing and pre-braces teeth. Their wriggles of childhood were settled into crossed legs, one little girl held her bracelets over her eyes, imagination glasses to better see the story unfolding. Parents sat in comfortable chairs around the outside of the circle, listening in relaxed detachment.

“’Free me, and I will show you a secret wonder.’” Whit paused her narrative and looked at the children, lifting an eyebrow in question. “Should she do it?”

Immediately hands shot up, waving in eagerness to be picked for such an important task. Whit suppressed the smile that tried to break through, keeping to the gravity of the moment. She pointed to one of the little boys in front, “Omar.”

His grin grew bigger, and he nodded emphatically, “Yes!”

“Really?” Whit drew out the word, “Do you all think she should do it?” Chimes of mostly agreement came from the diverse little crowd, but there was one who shook her head in a silent no.

Whit whispered mysteriously, “Let’s see.” She turned back to the old book. “The girl was very curious and loved to have secrets to keep from her sisters.” A few giggles from sympathetic siblings floated through the air. “So, she let the bird go. Away it flew, as fast as it could, deep into the forest. ‘Wait!’ the girl cried, ‘wait for me!’ The bird fluttered from oak to elm, and the forest grew dark and menacing.”

Unseen to all but one pair of young eyes, the library started to darken, a purple mist creeping into life around the sitting storyteller and her audience. “A wind rose and chilled the girl’s skin,” leaves rolled down the aisles of books, their rustling unheard except for by little ears. “And in the distance, she could hear the howl of wolves.” Shadows of branches moved along the ceiling, chilling howls underlying Whit’s voice.

Whit continued on, adopting a frightened tone, “Oh little goldfinch, I-I’m scared. I wanna go home.” An indigo light highlighted the young face, her only betrayal of her ability to see the forest from the story was in the flickering of wary eyes. She slowly took in the new surroundings and to the children bound by the magic of the story. Omar in particular; his eyes fixated on the book. “The bird stopped and looked at her, its eyes dark and cold. ‘How can I show you wonder if you are afraid of the forest,’ it said.”

To the girl, they were no longer in the library building. Bookshelves faded into the depths of a forest, becoming more translucent with each passing word. The carpet melted into leaves and twigs, little mysterious lights flickering and heavy shadows moving in the distance. Yet none of the others saw what she did.

Whit’s voice deepened in urgency, “’You must run now, night is falling, and the wolves are on the hunt!’”

***

The clinical beep of machines was the loudest noise in the sterile room. A man, his antiseptic clothing inline with the room, was strapped into a specialized chair. Chest, wrists and ankles bound tight. On either side of his temples, the machine waited.

The man sat patiently, anticipation and trepidation mixing as he awaited the next step of his career. It was finally time for his Focusing. Rubber clad hands went to the metal collar around Recruit 291’s neck, the locking mechanism opening for the technician, and she removed it for the first time since it had been put on.

Immediately his magic was released, exploding from suppressed energy into all the rooms surrounding him. Monitors fizzled, warnings displayed of the danger of the psychodynamic breach. But it was expected, the facilities built for just such occurrences, and the technician continued with her work.

“Oh god,” he whispered, fear and awe roiling. A smile vied with terror, eyes flickering around the scenery his magic transported to him. A forest, deep and varied, with life and secrets. His throat caught, the fear leaving him as he knew it again. Knew the magic. No more theoretical study of his power, no more memories of what it had been like before the collar had been placed on him. Now he saw it, felt it down to his soul.

Joy and sorrow rose twofold. “It’s beautiful,” he whispered through his trembling smile, tears springing to his eyes. And knew that he would never feel either duality again.

Separated by a mirror in an adjoining room, two men in A.R.C. suits stood motionless. Dispassionately, they observed the emotional man, feeling the energy strain from him and cause the high-tech electronics to crackle and blink. The smaller of the two looked to his senior to decide how to handle the situation.

Behind both, a woman stood back against the wall, uncomfortable and slightly frightened. But she made no sound, mute as she observed the path her future would lead her to. She touched slightly trembling fingers to her lips and breathed deeply.

Decisively, the senior member reached out towards the window, his hand making a grasping motion in the air. On the other side of the glass, the magic faded until only a little sphere remained as the arcanologist exerted control over it. The suppression was enough to snap Recruit 291 out of his emotions. He calmed, still watching what was revealed before him.  “I see a door opening,” he panted, concentrating. “A forest. A library. It’s all the library.”

The technician came back to him, a mouthguard in hand, protection for the procedure he is about to go through. His emotions got the better of him, the importance of what he saw making him struggle with his confinement, pushing himself as far from her as possible. His determined gaze locked onto the man suppressing his chaotic magic. “Director Rodrigo. It’s a Level Five anomaly. At the Yessler library.”

No hint of reaction crossed the Preceptor’s face nor pulled at the scars at his temples. He remained as he was, hand held out. But the woman behind him blanched, her skin paling even more. And around her throat, her utilitarian collar blinked rhythmically blue.

The smaller man, Director Rodrigo, pulled out an old-fashioned walkie, calmly relaying the message. “Code 37. Yessler library.”

In the room, Recruit 291 calmed, accepted the mouthguard and his future.

***

A few short minutes later, men in SWAT gear, rifles at the ready marched into the library. The white logo of A.R.C. was stamped onto the black of their left shoulder. Leading the team, an arcanologist strode in boldly, his uniform proclaiming to everyone who he was. An Enforcer. A witchhunter. He halted between the front desks, an intimidation tactic with his armed men. Behind the desk, one of Whit’s coworkers froze, terror on his face, and he shrunk down into his chair. Silence followed them; everyone knew to stay out of A.R.C.’s way. But Pepper stood instead, noiselessly watching as the arcanologist took a moment, waiting for something. The feel of magic being worked. A moment later he caught it, and he slowly looked up to the second level, arching a finger towards the ceiling. His men moved out, bringing rifles to their shoulders and quietly moving towards the stairs. An overweight cop tried to blend with the group, his hand on his gun. He was there for protocol, supposedly the higher authority, but everyone knew that A.R.C. were the ones who were really in control. The Enforcer swept wide, eyes creeping dispassionately over Pepper, his scars stark on sallow temples, and dismissed her, falling in with his team.

Upstairs, Whit continued to read from her fairy tales, “The girl ran and ran, but the bird flew further ahead of her.”

Pepper’s worried expression followed the last of the team disappear around the curve of the stairs. She looked to her employee, saw his terrified state, and she slipped from behind her desk to follow their path.

“Now she could hear the wolves making tracks ever closer, swift and strong.”

The policeman now had his weapon out as well, the armed members of the A.R.C. team crouched and stealthy as they slipped down the aisles of books, heading towards Whit’s voice. And the Enforcer strode forward confidently, he could feel the magical energy of the one they were coming to find.

Pepper slowly ascended the stairs, making sure to stay out of sight, slipping along the shelves she loved. She knew, repeatedly knew, that this would not end happily. She needed to be close by.

“Suddenly,” Whit continued oblivious to the approach, “she broke into a clearing, and there in the very center was the goldfinch, perched on the rim of a small golden mirror.”

To the girl listening, she could see the other children around her, could see Whit and the illustrations of the book. And the forest, the forest spreading wide around them, everyone else disappearing from their sphere. She didn’t know anyone was approaching. Didn’t know that there was someone who could feel the energy of her magic.

“Having sympathy for the girl’s plight, the bird whispered, ‘The wolves only want your body, not your soul.’”

“GET ON THE GROUND!” One of the men shouted at the gathered children, rifle aimed at them.

Immediate chaos exploded. The carefully balanced magic exploded in fragments, as uncontrolled as children's screams. Some fell to the ground, terrified. Others raced to their parents, throwing themselves into arms that had protected them in the past. “Hands above your head!” Lights flickered and popped, wind rustled, and a girl dashed into one of the side aisles, dropping to hide behind the scant protection.

Whit whirled around on her knees, throwing her arms out wide to block as many kids as possible, trying to figure out just what was happening. Behind her Omar sat up still, his hands held in the air in the universal sign of innocence. “Get on the ground!” The armed man screamed at Whit again, his gun right in her face. Cries filled the library, and Whit dropped down to her stomach, frantically trying to see all the A.R.C. team at once.

Another armed man moved behind Omar, his gun pointed to the lower back of the child. Omar sat frozen still, hands held rigid, magical energy crackling wildly around him. He couldn’t move, bound in terror, in the effects of uncontrolled magic. Frightened, he stared unseeing ahead of him.

This was when the Enforcer stepped forward, fanatical eyes trained on the little black boy. He lifted his hand, splayed his fingers, and Omar dropped, unconscious, to sprawl on the ground.

Pepper crawled further down the aisle she had slipped along and was able to make eye contact with Whit. She silently mouthed, “What did you do?”

Whit shook her head slightly, lifting one flattened palm slightly in a motion of rejection. She hadn’t done anything. No one had done anything. There hadn’t been any magic, nothing strange had happened. No reason for arcanologists to be here… right?

Out of the corner of her eye, a flash made her look to the side. A leaf?

She frowned, and then focused past it. Peeking out behind a little gap in the bookshelves, just over the top of the books, her eyes connected with another’s. Scared eyes, young, dark. They locked gazes for a quick moment, but Whit looked away, not giving a clue that there was something of interest to be investigated. Hopefully she hadn’t given anything away.

The girl knew she had to keep hiding. She could still feel the remnants of her magic, tried to hold it and suppress it. They would find her if she didn’t control it, hide it. A breeze ruffled her hair, sucked more leaves away from her. Slowly, inexorably, she looked to where she was being drawn. There it was. There He was. Full of power and magic.

A boy, fair blond hair in a haphazard cut fell over delicate features. His knowing, cocky grin was echoed in the casual way he leaned against the shelves, out in the open, one foot crossed over the other. He knew that no one else would be able to see him. He had no need to hide. Tattered leggings and a leather vest adorned his slim frame, a mysterious pouch hung on his hip. She swallowed. There was something about him she instinctively knew. He was not of this world. His smile grew just a hint wider.

In the cluster of prone bodies, the Enforcer nodded slightly to the police officer, the man looking far out of his depth. He accepted the illusion of leadership, now that the Enforcer had given it to him, and gestured to the unconscious Omar. “Collar him,” he said as he put his gun away.

The man who had continued to train his rifle on the boy now stepped forward, pulled a temporary collar from his pocket, and carelessly lifted Omar’s head to slip it under his neck.

Incensed, Whit looked up at the two leaders, “What are you doing?” She demanded. Another of the team reached down and pulled her badge out, checking her credentials. He grabbed her by the jacket shoulder, hauling her up just as the other locked Omar’s restraint collar into place, twin red lights burning on.

Anger boiled in Whit’s veins. She had to do something. They were going to take Omar; she knew the stories. She glanced around, looking for something, anything… and realized she somehow was still holding onto her book of fairy tales.

She kicked her chin up, raising the book into the air as the man still held her roughly in place. “Need some fuel for your next book burning, gentlemen?” She forced her sarcasm and anger into the words, belligerent. Maybe they would forget about Omar if she angered them enough.

It certainly got their attention. The cop and Enforcer both made some sort of gesture, and the man holding her pushed her forward. She would be going with them.

the most handsome slash nicest guy of the bunch

I was chatting with @ptw30 (as one does, when procrastinating on adulting) about how each season of VLD has given us different pairing-bait for Allura. But if the EPs’ hints (and what seems like a growing assumption in fandom) is that the story’s headed towards allurance, that’s pushing a message that’s... not really good.

Let’s review.

S1 was totally shallura bait, all over the place. S2 continued this to a lesser degree, but it was still a regular note.

I know how you feel, but you have to step away for a while. It's what's best for everyone.

S2 made various attempts at kallura bait, and really... fell pretty flat. Both the hug-in-space and hug-in-hangar were animated as rather physically-awkward interactions, which didn’t help. Then again, having two halves of a potential pairing on opposite sides of a significant racial conflict is gonna make it tough.

Well, sure, they're bad. No doubt about that. But at the same time, couldn't at least a few of them be fighting for good? ... It just seems crazy to lump everyone together.

Especially when one-half’s defense basically amounts to #NotAllGalra. 

S3/S4 was chock full of allurance bait, all the way up to Lance’s impassioned speech inspiring Allura to magic them all out of the Naxzela explosion pokey.

This belongs to you now. If I had to lose Blue to someone, I'm glad it was you.

And then there’s S5, most of which was dominated by equal parts lotura bait and Lance Being Annoyed. Lance’s characterization regressed to shades of who he was in S1, and make it clear exactly what kind of character he really is.

He’s a Nice Guy. 

Behind the cut: behold the evidence, minor salt at VA commentary, and two relationships that stand in contrast.

Lance’s Nice Guy Behavior

In S1/S2, Lance’s flirting is both inappropriate and pervasive, and he continues long after it’s clear that Allura neither welcomes nor enjoys his attention. She’s not even drawn ambiguously; her facial reactions make it clear.

Talking? Eating? Are you asking me out on a date?

Note that the narrative undercuts her agency. She reacts with disgust (and Hunk shows a kind of tired disapproval), but the rest of the casts’ lines treat it as a joke. Her reactions are the punchline. It’s soon clear that one time Shiro smacked Lance down for the inappropriate come-on was the exception, not the rule.

It’s not even “just not that into you,” so much as “does not enjoy being treated like a sexual/romantic object in situations entirely unrelated to that.” And with one exception (when Lance lucks on suggesting the one thing that Allura might actually want to do), her reaction doesn’t change. It’s there from the start.

The way she’s animated is almost as consistent as her irritation. 

Once into S3/S4, one could argue that Lance had finally realized a friendship had more value. He stopped flirting and started treating Allura with respect, listening as a friend, and recognizing her value and skills. 

Until Lotor shows up.

Lance’s opening reaction could be from distrusting Lotor as an enemy...

Look, it’s Prince Lotor, just hangin’ out on the bridge. 

...but he quickly moves into distrusting Lotor as competition.   

Lotor: ...you and I, a royal alliance between Altean and Galra... Lance: How ‘bout we don’t imagine that?

Lotor’s line could be seen as a thinly-veiled marriage proposition, but there’s wiggle room to take his words at face-value as simply suggesting an alliance. Notably, Allura shows no major reaction, let alone anything near the negative reactions she had for Lance’s flirting. 

We get reminders all season that this isn’t a one-time thing. Lance does it over, and over. He’s jealous when Allura responds favorably to Lotor’s compliments.

He’s territorial when Allura and Lotor leave without him, attempting to follow even though the invitation was explicitly only to Allura.

The next shot shows what prompted this reaction: Allura has taken Lotor’s arm. Allura is not animated as particularly physically-demonstrative; most of her touches (except for Coran) tend to be at the shoulders. This specific arm-touch characterizes Allura and Lotor as two people used to formal interactions, and kind of old-fashioned.

The problem is the ambiguity in the framing. I can’t shake the sense it’s meant to ‘reveal’ why Lance reacted badly, and make us sympathize with Lance’s unhappiness at seeing ‘his’ girl off with someone else. 

And then we have Lance stressing over Allura to the exclusion of all else, while the team’s busy trying to fix the ship and save their lives.

What’s happening? What do you think they’re doing now?

I’ve seen arguments this is meant to show he’s just, like, really worried. The narrative undercuts that, though, because Lance is the only one expressing these worries. The others could’ve acknowledged his words, and made it clear that Lance is just saying much louder what everyone else feels. But they’re not only blasé, they’re downright annoyed with Lance to the point that Pidge demands for Shiro to get Lance out of their faces. 

Canonically, we’ve seen nothing to establish that Lance has an exclusive position vis-a-vis Allura. She’s only extended as much friendship to him as she has to anyone else on the team, yet Lance takes that as grounds to scowl, sulk, and obsess.

This is what Nice Guys do. 

To paraphrase an article otherwise not worth quoting, rom-coms teach us ‘the one’ is usually the one who was there all along. (The same article also concluded that “when you get on well already, sometimes all it takes is time (or possibly alcohol) for you to see someone in a new light” and now I think I need to go break something to get over this wave of revulsion.) 

two relationships in contrast

Of course, I can’t mention all of the above without pointing out that in-canon, we have two other characters who’ve done it right: Shiro and Lotor.  

Shiro's respectful of Allura’s knowledge and authority, not only frequently asking her opinion, but then following her orders. He has his own opinion and voices it, but he does so without dismissing Allura's. He worries but is proactive (he'll go with her, instead), and he doesn't get in her way when she makes her own choice.

When Allura insists she’s part of things and will play a role, the rest of the team is a bit taken aback. Not Shiro. His lack of refusal indicates he sees her position as valid. 

Allura: I'm a part of this fight against Zarkon as much as anyone. I'm going. Does anyone have a problem with that? Shiro: Fine. Suit up.

An awful lot of media would have you believe it’s a valid counter-point to say since she’s pretty and a princess, by definition she’s not suited to joining the charge. Shiro doesn’t bother. (Interestingly, the only one who gets sent anywhere alone in S1 is Keith, and there’s an argument to be made that Shiro’s pre-existing knowledge of Keith’s abilities mean Shiro has a greater comfort zone for that.)

Or in short: Shiro is a Good Man.

Meanwhile, Lotor is clearly framed as the ‘bad boy’ -- from his actual position as the son of the Big Bad, to his smooth appearance (that hair), to his accent that codes as ‘high class’ to Americans. If Shiro is the stalwart quasi-military guy who opens doors for women but respects their position in the chain of command, Lotor is the quintessential rebellious rich boy (and even turns out to have a mushy center). 

Yet Lotor consistently shows respect for Allura’s agency and perspective, always checking with her first, rather than presuming. He asks for consent, rather than plowing right past Allura’s dis/comfort.  

He’s deferent when it’s her area of authority, openly credits her, and seeks her opinion. The few times Lotor gets snappish, it’s usually related to his parents, and Allura shows every sign of realizing the distinction.  With no flirtation in play, there’s little reason to see him as having romantic ulterior motives. Sure, he may have other motives, but I’d have a hard time making an argument that Lotor sees Allura as a purely romantic object. 

Lotor may be ‘the bad boy’ in this paradigm, but if you look at the way he -- like Shiro -- treats Allura, he’s not a boy, either. Like Shiro, Lotor is also fundamentally a Good Man.

a dash of VA-related salt

For the most part, I’ve rarely had reason to side-eye Josh Keaton’s interviews, but the recent one where he said something to the effect of Shiro shuts down Lance’s jokes (euphemism for ‘unwelcome flirtation’) because Shiro’s jealous he can’t make those jokes himself...

Cue reaction gif.

Really? We’re talking about a character who insists on persistent attention of a romantic nature, with no regard for the recipient's clear disinterest or obvious discomfort. 

We have a name for this: sexual harassment.

Yet Josh thinks the only character who ever speaks up to shut that shit down is doing so because he’s of the ‘if you can’t, I can’t’ school of reasoning?

Josh, wtf, over. Uncool.

There are a lot of places where @dynared and I will bang heads in our interpretations, but somewhere he commented that fandom might be surprised at how the writers aren’t nearly as progressive as some fans would like to think. (Or that the EPs would like us to believe.)

There are smaller examples of that: Keith pulling a #NotAllGalra, or Lance paraphrasing right-wing tripe as “Galra-on-Galra violence”. Or the way early S3 demotes Allura, or makes her fearful, self-doubting, and incompetent. Lance is the biggest case, though: if the end-game is really allurance, that’s like an entire series of positioning the Nice Guy to eventually win his prize.

In a word, that’s disgusting. 

If they couldn’t manage a romance subplot without falling into such corrosive tropes, personally I would’ve preferred romance be left out altogether.

isolation | lee felix

summary: sometimes having company is a much better alternative than being alone.  

genre: idol! au, established relationship! au, slight angst/fluff 

pairing: lee felix x reader

word count: 1.4k 

a/n: and if you guys don’t know already i absolutely adore writing for felix <3

Throughout your life you have regarded yourself as a reserved person. You preferred stay home rather than go out, surround yourself by blankets instead of people, and most importantly you preferred to keep quiet rather than voice your own opinions. It was a solitary life and for the time being you were positive that you could live like this for the rest of your life—well at least until Lee Felix walked into your life. Your lifestyle never really interfered with your desire to become an idol, which is how you were introduced to him in the first place. As an up and coming trainee for JYP your schedule was pretty packed with vocal lessons, dancing lessons and overall improving your skills to become an idol. It was habit of yours to stay back later than the rest of the trainees in order practice individually as you prided yourself on being the best version of yourself that you could be. You also believed in dedication and hard work, as you were determined to debut and were willing to do whatever it would take to make that dream a reality.

That was where he found you, with sweat dripping down your face and with your loose clothing flopping  around you as you attempted to perfect this dance move that you have been working on for the past hour. He was simply entranced by your form—enchanted by every step that you took and every move that you made. By the time that you looked in his direction he was gone, speedily walking down the hallway with his cheeks aflamed. For weeks on end he had been gathering up the courage to talk to you, more than one occasion the two of you had run into each other. He had spotted you in the dance studios and practice rooms on more than one occasion as well as you seeing him on your way back to the trainee dorms. There was little that you actually knew about him, other than the fact that he was apart of the newest pre-debut group, Stray Kids. He was cute and definitely your type, but you knew a relationship may not only cause you to lose your place as a trainee of JYP but it may also hinder your chances of debuting. And no matter how cute some boy was, you were definitely not willing to risk all your hard work going down the drain.

Yet, fate seemed to have something in store for the two of you. In a whirlwind of awkward meetings, flirty texts and lots of giggles, you somehow found yourself entangled with him. With him it was as if your dreams suddenly had a purpose, not only was everything that you were doing for yourself but also for him as well. He brought out a side of you that you have never even seen before in yourself, as the both of you chased and aspired for your dreams. Through him you had met the rest of his group members, making new friends and learning to broaden your horizons along the way. You were not only content with your life but actually—truly happy.

But lately it felt as if life was getting out of hand.

It was entire onslaught feelings that seemed to pour over you, smothering all the happiness that had built up over months. Ever since Stray Kids released their pre-debut album, their fame seemed to skyrocket from there. While you were exhilarated on Felix’s behalf, it felt that he was somehow slipping out of your grasp. There were constant fan signs that he needed to be at, thousands of people that he needed to meet, and thousands of girls screaming his name. You could understand why he kept canceling dates with you, citing an important fansign or filming for an episode of The 9th, you understood and you dismissed his apologizes.

This was both of your dreams—everything that the both you have been training for, and yet everything just felt a bit bittersweet. You weren't sure when you began pulling away from him, it just sort of happened, as if you were water slipping from his fingertips. At first he didn’t really notice, as bad as it sounded, he was too preoccupied with everything that he was doing, but he soon failed to notice you by his side. There was a flurry of missed calls and texts, but they went unanswered, and that was when he really started to worry.

It was a few days after till he finally reached you, knocking rapidly on your door, as water dripped from his wet hair and pooled around his feet. His breath caught in his throat as the door opened to reveal you—your hair disheveled, your skin dull and the brightness in your eyes faded. Glancing up at him you regarded him tiredly, motioning for him to enter.

“Felix, what are you doing here?”

There was no malice in your voice, just fatigue and it practically broke his heart to hear. He closed the door behind him, as he mentally scolded himself for not getting to you sooner. It was no secret that he thought about you often, wanting to spend every waking moment in your company, he physically couldn’t and till now, he did not notice the effect that it was having on you. Your dorm was a bit worse for wear as well, and a place that you usually keep well cleaned and organized was nothing but a mess.

“Is it a crime for me to visiting you?” he managed to put a small smile on his lips; however, when he didn't invoke the reaction that he wanted from you his eyes shifted downwards and he rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “I know I haven't been around lately and I’m sorry about that and I want to make it up to you so I—”

“It's fine. Don't worry about it.”

Your voice was practically emotionless, shrugging off his apology as if it meant nothing to you. He was a bit taken back by your behavior, watching silently as you bustled around your room to occupy yourself from his gaze. Yet, it wasn’t working as you could feel him practically burning holes in your back as you continued to move around.

“You don’t need to do this you know,” his voice cut through the tension in the room like a knife, and before you ask what he meant he continued speaking, “I talked to some of the other trainees about how you’ve not been acting like yourself—staying later and later after practice, ignoring everyone who’s been trying to talk to you—”

“I’ve just been busy that’s all.”

“—and all they want is just to help you, just let them help you. And if you don’t want them to help you then fine, ask the boys, Chan, Hyunjin, Jeongin—who are all worried about you,” he ran his hands through his hair and came up and grabbed your shoulder making you look him in the eyes, “or ask me [Y/N], I’m always going to be here for me so please, just let me in.”

You could hear his accent curling thickly around his words as he spoke, and if you weren’t so close to breaking down right about now, you would have smothered his faces in kisses by now. Small droplets of water begin to fall, and once they began they wouldn’t stop, and your quiet tears soon morphed into loud and ugly sobs. While you didn’t want to break down in front of him, you couldn’t help the cries that wracked your body as all the pent up anger, frustration, and sadness finally be released. And throughout this, you could feel the warmth radiating from him, his arms wrapped around your frame as your tears soaked his shirt. He rubbed your back gingerly, humming quietly in your arm, and being the rock that you needed to keep you sane.

There was no words that needed to be exchanged between the two of you, and he did not need to pry and inquire specifics about what caused you to become so upset. His silence was confirmation that he understood and that he would do whatever in his power to help you in the future. In that moment, perhaps letting down your walls wasn’t the worst thing, especially if a boy named Lee Felix was going to be there to catch you before you fall.

A Halloween Spook (Pre TerrorCat / Wildriser)

“Are you sure you can’t come, Smitt?” Marcel asked.

“Yeah, come on. We were gonna dress up and go to the Disney haunted house!” Craig said excitedly.

“What?! I didn’t hear about the haunted house part!!” Brian interrupted. “And I didn’t hear about the dressing up part! What’s this all about?!” Scotty added. “Well we might take our the dressing up part.” Marcel reconsidered.

“Sorry, guys. I wish I could come.” Smii7y sighed. “But there’s still a lot of stuff I need to do in preparation for moving.”

“Do we have to go inside?” Brian complained.

“Come on, ya pussy. I’m ready to see you get scared shitless.” Tyler smirked.

“No, Tyler wait!!” Brian cried out as Tyler pulled him to the entrance.

“You think we should go rescue him?“ Brock suggested. “Why should we? He was asking for it.” Scotty shrugged. “He’s terrified, like absolutely /terrified/ of anything to do with horror, let alone just darkness.” “Eh, he’ll be fine.” Marcel waved off the situation. “Besides, he has big ol Tyler to protect him.” Craig snorted. “See? This ain’t so bad.” Tyler mused. The pair made their way through the huge main doors into the beginning corridor. “Y-yeah. We’ve- we’ve seen it, now let’s go back.” Brian said, stepping back to the door. “Brian- ” Tyler was cut off by the heavy door slamming shut. In a flash Brian was clutching onto Tyler’s arm. “Holy fucking shit. I was not expecting that.” “Well neither was I. Let’s go to the next room.” Tyler rolled his eyes. “And for fuck’s sake, let go of my arm! You’re like a clingly girlfriend.” “Oh shut up, bitch.” Brian rolled his eyes, but didn’t release his grip. Brian’s grip tightened even more as they walked through to the first room. Tyler had given up already with trying to get his friend off of his arm. Brian was too enamored by the displays and the scaring actors to notice all of the strange looks the duo were getting by the other guests with them. While Tyler was immune to the scares, he did jump every time Brian was startled, only because Brian would yelp right in his ear. ~Time Skip~ “Are you sure it was a good idea to let them go on their own? I feel like Tyler has probably strangled Brian by now just to stop his screaming.” Scotty said as they exited the building. “Eh, I don’t feel like Tyler’s into that.” Craig replied. “Oh my gawd, Craig! I don’t need that image in my head!” Scotty complained. “Don’t blame me! You were the one who thought of it!” “Not like that though!!” Suddenly a body came flying at the small group. “Holy shit, what took you guys so long?!” Exclaimed a disheveled looking Brian. “Well we didn’t sprint through it like you obviously did.” Marcel laughed. “We did not sprint, thank you very much.” Brian crossed his arms. “Yeah, I was practically carrying him through the entire thing.” Tyler said, walking up to the group. Brian scoffed at him, clearly unimpressed. “It wasn’t even that scary.” Brian brushed off. “You keep telling yourself that.” Craig patted Brian’s shoulder. “You guys are fucking dicks. You’re all buying me dinner for making me go through that.” “I ain’t taking you on no date!” Scotty laughed. “Wait! Uh, let’s just get some pizza while we’re already out.” Marcel said. “I’m down for food.” Craig nodded. “Scott, you know that local pizzeria on 10th street?” “Ooo yeah! That place is fuckin gooood!” “Great! You guys alright with that?” “I’m down.” Brock said as the others just nodded. “Alright, sounds like a plan.” Marcel smiled as they walked to his and Scotty’s cars. ~Time Skip~ “Uh Marcel?” Craig asked. “What’s up?” “Why is there a car in your driveway?” “That’s the surprise I told you guys about!” “I don’t trust that grin on your face.” Brian commented. “Come on, it’ll be fine…. Probably. Trust me…” Marcel led them to his house, as the car in the driveway pulled out. “Uhm… what-” Tyler started. “Shh!!” Marcel placed a finger on his lips as he pushed open the already unlocked front door. The others nervously followed him inside the dark house. “What the fuck is that??” Craig whisper yelled. Everyone whipped around to see where Craig was pointing. Craig was staring intentivly towards the kitchen. Two shinning spheres floated in the middle of the room. One of which was bright blue, while the other was flickering red. “You don’t- you don’t have a tv in your kitchen, do you Marcel?” Brock asked in a hushed tone. The lights moved nearer, drifting closer to the wall as it made its way towards the group.. The guys instinctively huddled closer together. Then a voice broke the silence. “Boo, bitches.” The lights flicked on, along with a terrified scream, revealing the source of the flying spheres. Two mini flashlights where in the hands of a white haired teenage looking guy. “Smii7y!!” “Its ya boi.” Smitty did a little bow. “You fucking dork.” Tyler chuckled, shaking his head. “Wait, did you two plan all this?” Scotty asked, turning back and forth between Smitty and Marcel. “Kinda. I managed to find a flight that landed today. Its harder than you think to find Canadian flights to Florida.” “Brian? Are you okay?” Craig asked, bringing the attention away from the youngest. Everyone turned to see a paralysed Brian, who was just staring wide eyed at Smitty. “Oh shit, we scared him too much.” Marcel mumbled. “Wha- what- I- what??” Brian’s words fumbled out with no meaning. Tyler tossed his arm around Brian’s shoulders to try to bring him out of his head and back into reality. “Uh, its just a prank bro?” Smii7y tried to give him a reassuring smile. “F-fuck this. I’m not sleeping alone tonight. I don’t care what you fuckers say, but I’m rooming with one of you, sons of bitches.” Brian glared at the group, tapping his foot while he waited for someone to offer their bed. “Don’t look at me. I don’t even have my own bed yet!” Smii7y laughed, breaking up the tension. “Fucking hell.” Tyler grumbled. “Smitt, you take Brian’s bed and he’ll cone with me, seeing how I was the one who dragged him into the haunted house.” “Ooo look at Tyler being the responsible one for once.” Brock grinned. “Well I don’t see anyone else volunteering.” Tyler snapped. Brock raised his hands in defense. “Fuck, sorry. Let’s just go to bed already. I’m wiped.” Tyler sighed, running a hand through his hair. Everyone dispersed to their own respected rooms, all equally tired from the day’s events. A line of piles of clothing started in the hallway as a way to mark places in line for the shower. Door frames dimmed as bedroom lights slowly flickered out one by one. The house was at last peacfully quiet. The only light still on was the bathroom light and Tyler’s room. Brian was sitting on the edge of the bed, towel drying his hair, as he waited for Tyler to come back from his own shower. He flinched when the door opened, revealing a sleepy looking Tyler. Brian watched him apprehensively as Tyler waltzed into their shared room. Tyler side eyed him, raising his brow. “Are you not going to bed?” “Huh? Oh yeah, yeah, I am.” Brian nodded, although it sounded like he was trying moreso to convince himself rather than Tyler. “… Alright then.” Tyler said with suspicion. Brian slowly lifted up the blankets, as if he was afraid he was going to mess up the bed. He carefully slide under the comforter, still on the edge of the bed. “Oh come on, I’m not that big!” Tyler joked. Brian let out a nervous laugh, pulling the covers tighter around himself. He kept looking around the room, as if just waiting for something to move and jumpscare him. “Do you want me to check under the bed for monsters or something?” Tyler asked teasingly. “Would you?” Tyler didn’t expect such a hopeful reaponse from the other. It had caught him so off guard that he crouched on his hands and knees to search without a second thought. “All clear.” Brian just nodded with a far off look in his eyes. Tyler wasn’t sure if his friend had even heard him, but he climbed into the bed anyway, being too tired to really care. Brian tried to settle his rapid breathing as Tyler settled into his side of the bed. Suddenly, a heavy weight was thrown on Brian’s side. Brian let out a shriek as he leapt from the bed. “Holy fuck, Brian! Calm down, it was just me! Tyler!” “Fucking hell! You scared the shit out of me.” Brian grabbed at his heart. “Just get back in bed, pussy. Nothing’s gonna get ya.” Tyler waved him back over. “I’m not a pussy.” Brian grumbled as he slunk back to bed. Tyler rolled his eyes. “I’m not!” “You screamed when Smitty flipped on the light switch.” “You guys were psyching me out!!” “Yeah, because you were being a little bitch.” Tyler laughed. “You know what? Fuck you. I’m finding a different room mate.” Brian said as he continued to walk. “No wait, Brian. Come on, I was just teasing you.” Brian turned just his head to glare at him. “Get your ass back in bed already. Its like fuckin 3 am.” Brian scoffed. “Besides, I’m the only one that’ll leave a light on for you.” Brian seemed to contemplate his options. Tyler flipped on the lamp sitting on the side table. Tyler didn’t even look back at Brian to see if he was comimg as he laid back down. Tyler heard Brian let out a sigh before he felt the bed dip. They laid in stilled silence for a moment. “Alright, come here, you pussy.” Tyler rolled over and wrapped an arm around Brian. Brian’s nervous shaking stilled. His breaths became deep as he felt Tyler tug him into his chest. Brian noted how warm Tyler felt against him and how at ease the latter seemed. With a quick intake of air, Brian flipped over so they were chest to chest. Without looking at Tyler’s face, Brian shrunk down slightly so he could tuck his head under Tyler’s chin. Brian felt Tyler’s body rumble as Tyler chuckled. Brian’s arms felt awkward tucked under himself so he opted to gripping Tyler’s shirt. Tyler seemed to take that as though Brian was trying to feel grounded, so Tyler slipped his arms around Brian’s torso and started rubbing soothing circles on his back. Brian let out a deep sigh of relaxation as he felt his eyelids start to droop. Brian faintly sensed Tyler’s lips curl into a smile against his forehead as the pair fell asleep.

The Rise of Skywalker Likes and Dislikes

This is going to talk very bluntly and blatantly about things that happened in the movie.  So if you’ve been holding off on seeing it, here’s your warning.  Or if you don’t want to read someone criticizing something you enjoyed.  Skip past everything.

Likes:

-Finn at the beginning.  It’s nice to see his character growth from oblivious and try-to-hard former Stormtrooper, to still a little blundering Resistance fighter but still shows he’s capable, to a man confident in himself/in himself/in his friends and allies.

-When Chebacca learns of Leia’s death.  That’s the look of someone who has lost their oldest friends and don’t even have the strength to be angry.  There’s just loss.  THAT is one of the most powerful moments in this whole movie.

-Fine.  Ben’s “Okay bitches.  Now we can do this.” shrug before carving through the Knights is a great bit of physical acting and (I guess) comedy.

-The new main trio meet at the end and… hug.  No kissing.  No pairing off.  Three people who just survived a war and are happy that each is still alive.  Especially Finn.  This is his family and they’re okay.  Not everything has to end with hook-ups or resolved love triangles.  

Dislikes and Opinions:

-Palpatine.  Why?  He did his bit in the prequels, died in the OT, had no bearing in either TFA or TLJ.  So why bring him back now?

-What was the point of Rose in this?  She gets limited screen-time and doesn’t move the plot along.  The movie could have used this as a means to continue its slow show of representation, but apparently that’s a bridge too far.  But we did get Naomi Ackie as a supporting character of color with screentime and lines?  So we… traded?  Maintained?

-The fuck was with that Finn “I have something to tell you” line?  There was no lead in from any of the prior movies at all.  And no, it doesn’t count if it was revealed in the novelisation of either of the previous films.

-So Rey can sense Chewie is on a ship… but can’t tell that he’s on a different ship than the one she blows up?  Or that he’s not on the ship that she’s telekinetically fighting over?

-D-O is cute factor and nothing more or better.  Add onto that: Babu was there for cute factor.  And people shit on Jar Jar (me included) because he was written as something to entertain children.

-Rey is a Palpatine.  Why was that a choice that was made?  Why does she have to be related to anyone pre-existing in the Star Wars canon?  And why did things have to be explained not in the movie, but in tweets, interviews, the novelisation, etc?  Like the fact that Rey is a Palpatine.  Movie made you think that one of her parents was Sheev’s child, right?  Which one?  Sorry, didn’t tell us.  Oh, and it was her father, by the way.  Oh, and he wasn’t Palpatine’s child; he was actually a failed clone of Palpatine.  And that’s just one part.

-How does the blade work in the grand scheme of things?  Was it made after the destruction of the Death Star (because how else would it be able to line up so well with the wreckage)?  Who made it?  Why didn’t they pillage Palpatin’s hidden room of important shit?  Why didn’t they pass it on immediately to Kylo if he’s the second coming of Vader?

-Leia’s death.  Yes, all they had was archival footage.  So you mean to tell me that they couldn’t have done anything with that miraculous CGI technology to create a facial/vocal facsimile?  That they had no point of reference of ever doing that?  That there was absolutely no budget?  Or that rewrites were an impossible thing?  Because “Leia lays down, dies, and gives her son a moment to pause and get stabbed” isn’t doing right by Carrie Fisher or respecting her legacy.  That’s “Well, this is what we have.  Guess all we can do is use only what we have to make something and not put any more effort into it.”

-”We have no source material!” Except the whole “Emperor trying to find a new body” thing was done in Dark Empire.  As was the fact that the Emperor we saw was a clone that decayed rapidly without a Force-strong host.  And the fleet of ships to turn the tide of things was done with the Katana Fleet.  And Force Heal has been done in games like the GBA version of Revenge of the Sith.  And and and.

-Han Solo forgives his son!  Except it’s not Han, or a Force Ghost of Han (because Han wasn’t Force sensitive or trained to become self aware in the Cosmic Force after he died because that’s the explanation that they’ve been establishing in the Clone Wars TV series since the end of Season 6), but a figment of Ben’s imagination.  So Ben imagined that his father forgave him for murdering him.  … That’s not how it works.  If you’re imagining your murder victim forgiving you, there’s probably some deep psychological shit to deal with.

-People have talked about it, so I’ll hop on the train: how in the hell did Lando travel quickly enough to get that many ships when a distress call put out by Leia herself couldn’t shift asses?  How can he cover that much area, gather all those ships, then get through the mists or whatever the shit surround Exogal when one of those tracking beacon/map thingies have been set up as the only way a ship can travel through?

-For everything that Abrams did to negate TLJ, Palpatine’s monologue of Rey’s actions is very similar to Snoke’s monologue of Ren’s actions.  Down to the “HAHA PSYCH!” moment.

-The Knights of Ren are just a shit-show.  The name sounds cool, though, right!  Aaannnddd they’re killed off without a single line said or them proving to be any sort of threat representative of their “feared” name.

-Here’s something: when all the past Jedi are talking to Rey, you’re told who the male voices belong to (including stuff like Young Obi-Wan and Kanan).  But you only get Female Jedi 1 and Female Jedi 2.  That’s kind of fucked up and sexist, right?

-They set up Rey’s anger throughout the trilogy as being her path to the Dark Side (going as far to show what she could be like if she gives into those darker urges)... and never really do anything to resolve it.

-They REALLY lean into the idea that Finn is Force sensitive in this movie, don’t they?  Despite no evidence of it in any other movie.

-The random scene of just revived Rey grasping Ben’s hand and the frames drop (maybe that’s just my copy, but it's still a standout).  If it’s something everyone gets… then why the hell is something that glaring still in the movie.

-The kiss.  The novelisation said that the kiss was one of “gratitude,” but seriously?  Rogue One had a moment of gratitude where Jyn and Cassian are together and they… hug.  That’s it.  Piss off with your gratitude; there was a kiss because this movie substitutes sense with forced fanservice and they knew that people wanted to see Rey and Kylo together at some point.  Just like they likely kept Rose out of the movie because people gave Kelly Marie Tran shit.  Like that could have made the movie even possibly worse.

-Ben dies and fades away… and Leia’s body fades away at the same time.  Even though she’s been dead for a day+ at this point.  Because… she connected her spirit to her son?  See, that’s something I pulled completely out of thin air, but wouldn’t it be nice if that was the truth and the movie actually explained that was what happened instead of just giving random ass coincidences?

-Rey Skywalker.  Why does she have to be Rey Anybody?  There could have been such a positive spin to what she said earlier in the movie.  “Just Rey.”  Have her say it with pride and ownership now.  She’s her own person, unburdened by the names of those who have gone before.  She doesn’t have any name to live up to.

-Fuck you for your obvious, blatant and unecessary fanservice and self pleasing imagery where the twin suns are arranged to look like BB-8.  He’s not so important that one of the last lingering moments has to be of your new creation, Abrams.  You’re not so essential to Star Wars that you have to make a “HEY LOOK AT ME THE GUY WHO MADE THIS MOVIE” made-for-screenshots image.

Meh

-There’s no meh.  There are just rare moments of contentment amongst a constant feeling of disappointment and frustration.

Random Asides

-Kathleen Kennedy did an interview with Rolling Stone in November of 2019 leading up to The Rise of Skywalker.  You may have seen it float around, but she said “Every one of these movies is a particularly hard nut to crack. There’s no source material. We don’t have comic books. We don’t have 800-page novels.”  It’s in relation to how difficult it is to write and direct the movies, but come on.  There’s TONS of source material, dating as far back 1977 for the comics AND the novels.  There might not be 800 page novels, but there are trilogies, doulogies and massive story arcs that exceed those numbers (NJO and Legacy of the Force may not be your thing, but they’re there).  Rebels went and borrowed Zeb’s look from the original script AND took characters directly from Zahn’s Thrawn trilogy; Clone Wars pulled from Legends while Legends were still considered canon and afterwards.  Not all of it is good; it’d be difficult to translate a lot of it to screen without heavy edits these days.

“I love that we have these amazingly passionate fans who care so much. And I know sometimes they may think we don’t listen, but we do, and I thought it was fantastic that people got that engaged. It just showed me and everybody else how much they care. And that’s important for all of us that are doing this. We really look at them as the custodians of this story as much as [we are]. We look at it as kind of a partnership.”  Except when we’re not happy with a product that turns out to be sub-par.  Piss right off.

-Billie Dee Williams seems like he’s dropped in from a different movie entirely.  Not a bad thing; his delivery and presence is just so different from anyone else’s.

All In All

-It’s my least favorite of all the movies.  Worse than any of the prequels.  And say what you will about the prequels: at least they had a connecting story and the director didn’t try to kneecap something that happened in the middle movie before burying it in a shallow grave while taking a dump on the things left behind that didn’t fit in their vision.  It’s worse than Solo.  No amount of fanservice can fix the fact that the movie was by-and-large unenjoyable.   

Gangland (1)

Pairing: jungkook x female reader/character

wordcount: 2.1k (short because this is chapter one)

warnings: Dom!jungkook gangmember!jungkook, smut, fluff, profanities, mature themes

—synopsis: Y/N is a girl with an overly privileged life who falls for the exact opposite of what she’s been taught makes a good significant other.

/////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

“Yeah definitely! I think that’s great. Eleven o’clock is fine.” You said in a some what believable, preppy tone. “See you soo-“ but before you could give a sincere response to your so-called friend, the familiar beep of the other line hanging up rings in your ears. You sighed softly, putting down your phone. You stared at the familiar list of contacts displayed on the screen; so many names, yet not one that you truly knew, or liked. Your parents had money; private schools and prestige dinner parties were the usual, and sadly, those privileges also came with very stuck-up, arrogant people. You had been raised well, being taught to understand that riches weren’t something to let get to your head. You’d always been timid, shy and much more easily intimidated than your friends; But you had good morals, unlike the people around you.

Leah, Irene and Hanna had grown up with you. All four of you had spent pre school, elementary and high school together. They had always belittled you; never seeing you as on their level. But you had wealth that could compete with their’s and came from a respected family, so they kept you around and used your shyness to their advantage. It sucked, but what could you do? You hated any kind of intimidation or conflict. Now all attending the same university, there was no getting away from them. So you did what you did best: going along with whatever they say. You wore things you knew Irene would approve of, you ate things that wouldn’t go against Leah’s overly healthy diet plans and you said yes to all the late night outings Hanna planned; even if you would much rather stay at home and finish one of your many drawings or catch up on some school work. It was a lonely life, but people had it worse is what you told yourself.

Looking out the window at the freshly cut grass of the back garden, you decided it would be good to start getting ready for wherever Hanna had planned to go. Even though it was already ten, and you didn’t like going out late. Sighing, you got up to go tell your mother. “Mother? I’m going out with Irene, Leah and Hanna. Is that okay?” She looked up from her laptop, eyeing the clock.

“Leaving at 10pm. You know I don’t like that. Do you not have college tomorrow, Y/N?”

You loved your parents, you truly did; but you had applied to countless universities, far from these rich and twisting roads, so you would be able to live in your own space. However, you hadn’t had any luck getting in. So you were stuck: still living in the palace your smothering parents called a home, with a group of friends you didn’t like. Just peachy. You wanted a little independence. Just a little.

“I won’t be back late. I promise. I’m old enough to make reasonable decisions now. Also, my lecture’s at two in the afternoon tomorrow, not in the morning.” Your mother sighed, eyeing you up and down.

“Alright. Fine. Be back home by two thirty, no later. And I mean it. You’ll be with the girls, yes?” Your mum asked, with a smile. She seemed to love your friends just as much you disliked them.

“Yes.” You spoke somewhat sadly, but of course your mother didn’t catch on.

“Alright. Drive safe.” She said, busying herself on her laptop again.

“I will.” You replied coldly.

“Then I said, did you get those shoes at a GARAGE sale? Her face completely fell!” The girls laughed in your car. Gossiping about some girl they had been making fun of the whole ride, while you sat quietly. Focusing on the road.

“So uh.. what actually is this place? The Lovers, uhh.. Lovers Club?” You questioned. Hanna looked up from her compact mirror.

“It’s a totally bad ass club, everyone goes there. I mean, I’m bored of all the places back home. It’s in a pretty bad area but-“

“By bad, do you mean poor?” Leah exclaimed, horrified.

“God forbid! No, I mean like crime and stuff, so keep your things close to you. The area around the club’s ok, but a little too far out and you’re in bad territory. But to be honest, gang guys are kind of hot.” Hanna stated, shrugging.

“Ugh, who cares? It’s not like we live there. That’s the trash’s problem.” Irene said Fixing her hair in the mirror.

“By.. trash do you mean people who live in poverty?” You asked frowning. What a bitch.

“Yes, I mean poor people. Problem?” Irene challenged lifting her brow at you.

“Well.. I-I just mean that they’re people too.. you know.” You said clearing your throat, finding the indicator much more interesting then the annoyed Irene staring holes into the side of your face.

“Y/N, shut up. We didn’t have to invite you, ok? You’re here because you have a nice car, not because we love to hear about your opinions, okay? Just keep quiet like you usually do.” You sat silently, swallowing down your upset and shrunk further into your seat. The girls had found some new nail salon they all liked to talk about, withdrawing their attention away from you.

After a very lengthy car ride, bringing you way far from home, you soundlessly announced to the girls that you had arrived. They had all gotten out the vehicle, and you had just taken a step on the concrete when a security guard makes his way to you. “Excuse me Miss, this is a no parking zone; you’ll have to find parking else where.” He said bored, already walking away. You sighed, already feeling the I-want-to-go-home thoughts creeping into your mind like on every night out with the girls.

“So, where should we pa-“

“Okay, so: you go park and we’ll see you inside! See you soon, girl!” Leah said hurrying off, with the other girls following her, as you stared after them. You crossed your arms, whispering an “okay.” What a life.

You weren’t stupid. You knew you didn’t have a backbone but fear wasn’t the only thing holding you back: it was the fact that other then those pathetic excuses of friends- you really didn’t have anyone else. So whenever sticking up for yourself came to mind, the fact that something is better than nothing always came back to haunt you.

This was a pretty scary area, and now you were alone, in a stupidly short dress, trying to find parking. Driving up and down unfamiliar roads and past graffitied walls: finding nothing even after twenty minutes of searching. It was now pitch black night, and you didn’t even know how far from the club you were. Stopping in the middle of the deserted road, you pulled out your phone getting up the navigation to try to find the way back to the club, only to have it die as soon as you press on maps. “Dammit” You muttered. What to do, what to do.. Looking out the window, a small convenience store catches your eye. Maybe someone in there can give you directions? You turn your car into one of the parking spots, double checking you’ve locked the doors. You walk quickly across the rest of the car park to the store, wanting to be as quick as possible, and go as unnoticed. However, it was starting to look like someone had it out for you that night, as multiple whistles coming from the left of the empty parking lot caught your attention.

“Ay, where you going so quick baby girl?” Three men around your age, hoods up and gold chains decorating their necks, approach you as your soul departs your body.

“Sorry I’m n-not interested.” You say trying to hold your ground, stumbling back a little.

“Come on, give us a chance. We’ll show you a good time.” You could hear the amusement lacing his tone.

“Our car’s back there, sweet cheeks; interested?” they say coming even closer as you hold your breath, hands shaking and heart pounding against your rib cage. I shouldn’t have come. I should have said no to Hanna. I should have just stayed ho-

“Now. What the fuck do we have here?” You jumped at the new, deeper sounding voice, looking behind you to see a much bigger man, with muscly arms crossed against his wide chest. In a bucket hat, and a mouth mask, you couldn’t quite see his face, and now you were even more uneasy and prone to faint. He tilted his face up, eyes meeting yours. They were round and a lot more at ease than your’s, that’s for sure. They sparkle slightly, and you can’t look away fear engulfing your whole frame, breathing getting even faster as he slowly walks closer.

“Oh um.. JK. We weren’t doing shit. You um.. you know her?” One of the men asks, swallowing visibly.

“Yeah. She’s a friend. Why?” He says, venom dripping off his words.

Friend. Friend? I haven’t seen this guy in my li-

“That’s dope! Friends are the shit man. Actually, we needed to um.. do some.. some stuff so uh, we’ll get going.” One of the men laughed awkwardly, as the three darted away, back to their car. You stood rooted to your spot, staring at their car pulling off down the road in awe. What the fuck is happening?

“Are you alright? They didn’t hurt you, did they?”

Your eyes widen and you swing behind at lightening speed to drink in the image in front of you.

His mouth mask is now pulled down revealing the beauty it hid. His eyes are big, sparkling in the night with uneven cherry lips, parted in concern. A little scar under his left eye adds to his charm, you swallow, spotting tattoos painting themselves up his wrists; fading into the darkness of his leather jacket. Overall: he is insanely handsome, the mysterious type, you thought to yourself. In fact, he was the best looking guy you’d ever seen to date. And judging by his huge arms and nicely built shoulders, you’re sure it gets better when his shirt comes off

What catches your eye is his diamond encrusted chain, the number 39 in between his collarbones. That sure would look nice dangling above you while he pounds into yo-

“hey?” His lips look lovely when they move. Wait, his lips are mov- he’s speaking to you SAY SOMETH-

“No, they did not hurt me” You say hoarsely, still eyeing him. He licks his lips before nodding at you.

“This part of town isn’t for girls like you, darling. Go home.” He says eyeing you up and down slowly, bringing his arms down to his pockets.

“W-why?” You can’t help the word spilling out your lips, pout painting itself onto your mouth.

“Because of your flashy car and the fact you smell like Yves Saint Laurent from a mile away.” He says, arching an eyebrow. You blush.

“I’m sorry.” Wait why am I apologising? “And thank you very much for helping me..”

“JK. Call me JK.” He says with a smirk on his face, like it’s oh so entertaining to see you trying to fumble words together.

“Right yes. JK. Right, so I’ll just-“ you say accidentally walking into the back of your car. “I’ll just go- go back. From where I.. came from, cause that’s where I have to um.. go back to.” You smile. What did I even just say?

“You do that.” Jungkook nods at you smugly. Just as he begins to turn away you remember something. “Mr. JK! Wait please!” You exclaim as his figure stops and turns around slowly.

“Mr. JK?” He repeats back amusedly.

“Actually. The reason I’m even here is because um.. I was trying to find a parking space because the Lovers Club didn’t have any and I came way too far out and-“ you breathed in composing yourself, completely understanding you probably looked like a complete joke. “Could you please tell me where the club is? I’m hopelessly lost.” You asked him, smiling.

After some thought, JK replies “I’ll drive.” He shrugs, walking towards your car.

“Wh- No!” You yell. “I-I don’t even know you! I can’t get in a car you’re driving. That c-could be dangerous.” You mumble.

“You asked for my help.” JK said stiffly, standing to his full height. Which was very intimidating.

“I know, but I just need directions.” You said feeling very small.

“Listen hear, doll. This neighbourhood is basically one big mafia. Now, does your rich, mansion-living little self know what a gang is?” You flinched slightly at his profanities, cheeks reddening as you nodded your head dumbly; you felt like a kid getting told off by their dad. “Good. So to put it simply: this part of town is crawling with them. So, if you go riding around in that tiny dress, with a face like that in a flashy ass car, HERE what do you think will happen?” You crossed your arms behind your back, head lowering.

Face like that? You clenched you’re thighs together.

“something bad.” You whispered.

“Yes princess, something bad.” You could tell he was being sarcastic; but the way he was speaking: so aggressively, to you, calling you all these pet names, was insanely arousing. “That’s why I was asking to drive your car. No one is going to stop you if I’m driving. Ok? I’m known.” He spat. “I don’t even know why I’m helping you, seeing as I’m one of them.” He mumbles, but you don’t catch that.

You sigh, thinking.

“Ok. Y-you can drive.”